


Woven

by BonGarland



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tasertricks - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Resilience, angsty, confronting mortality and human frailty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 77,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonGarland/pseuds/BonGarland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[NOW COMPLETE] Darcy Lewis made a choice years ago, to sever a link in her life that would turn out to be more of a vital tendon. With dangers looming on the horizon and herself the target of a powerful magical entity, she'll have to gather and repair the tattered remnants of that link, or face losing all she holds dear. Post-Avengers AU Tasertricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I present my latest endeavor. Started as a potentially very-rambling oneshot, and so I've broken down what I had composed so far. This is going to be very angsty, be warned, ending in dramatic character death, since that's apparently a thing of mine. Idea came to me when listening to "young and beautiful" by Lana Del Rey, and it grew from there, along with a whole angsty playlist. Anyhow, enjoy!

The smell of sanitized equipment, clinically-approved bed linens, and her hospital-issued gown was going to kill her long before the sickness was, Darcy Lewis decided. She was heavily medicated, but the sterilized atmosphere was even beginning to break through the induced haze.

She hated it. Hated the gray walls, the dim lighting, the distinct lack of décor that meant her hospital room could have been any in the world, as well as anyone's. Could have been a prison cell, for all she knew. The only feature from the outside world, and even it was from the gift shop downstairs, she imagined, was the bouquet of wilting flowers on her bedside table. She hated them too.

Most of all, she hated the sympathetic expressions everywhere she looked. Her family, the staff, her friends and family, coworkers, anyone and everyone who even looked in her room wore the same look on their face. Their faces had begun to blur together, apathy at her situation threatening to take over. The atmosphere tainted any decent company she might get.

Heaving as strong a sigh as she could in her weakened state, Darcy's hand strayed to a long lock of graying mahogany hair, twirling it around and through her fingers over and over, as she had all her life when bored, distressed, or thinking hard.

Before she'd been diagnosed, before she'd been bedridden to prevent something glossed over with the phrase "unnecessary taxation" but really meant "we need you to die laying still and conveniently", Darcy had always been active. Dancing to music, tapping her foot impatiently in elevators or waiting for them, drumming her hands on the gearshift or steering wheel as she drove, she did it all. She couldn't stand the thought of life passing her by while she sat still. And here she lay, condemned and powerless.

He would have eased her boredom.

He would have found a way to save her, at or against her insistence. He would have taken her around the world and beyond it, given her cursory directions and let her take the reins. He would have let her explore every tiny, overlooked facet of a place, thing or person, the sort of stuff only she noticed, the sort of thing he knew she would latch onto. He would have distracted her from her expiration date until the last moment, not let her dwell in a cold bed and stare at the elephant in the room that loomed on the horizon in her head.

Shaking her head free of depressing metaphors, Darcy shuffled into as comfortable a position as one could get on these beds, letting her mind drift down a distinctly happier path, memory lane.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Those had been hectic days, after the attack on New York, the hours between dawn and dusk filled with cleanup and rebuilding of its structures, and mental and physical recovery of its people.

The ever-undaunted SHIELD even had a curveball thrown its way. A few hours after Thor and Loki had been seen off by the Avengers, the pair had returned. Beamed down by some alternative method of Odin's, they'd arrived right in front of headquarters. A lucky shot, or someone was watching more closely than they'd thought, Fury mused aloud as he hit the lobby, moving to appease the rapidly-growing mob on his front porch. The Asgardian pair was at the center of it, Thor hesitant to hit his way out of a wall of angry flesh.

They conspicuously bereft of the tesseract and its containment vessel. Loki was still muzzled and chained, and therefore vulnerable to the efforts of the enraged humans fighting to get to him, Thor almost comically uncertain of himself as they staggered with the ebb and flow of the crowd.

Fury debated ignoring what was going on outside, at least for five minutes. Then a shot rang out, and he snapped an order. "Lewis! With me!"

Jane Foster's intern had been moved to a position within headquarters while her boss was in protective custody masquerading as research in Norway, but she wasn't sure she liked this work any better. The brunette pushed her glasses further up her nose, eyes wide at the noise outside as she straightened from her lean across a secretary's desk as she explained paperwork. "Am I a mob containment squad? Do I resemble a SWAT team in any way? You make me keep my taser in a locker-"

At Fury's glare, she wilted, and as she, as clearly the most qualified person in the room who wasn't a secretarial lackey, moved to his side, Fury muttered something about Thor needing a familiar face.

As they reached the doors, which opened with a smooth hiss at their approach, Thor's voice rose above the crowd in a roar. "MOVE." Silence ensued, punctuated by the waving of impromptu weapons by the lingering masses, and Thor more or less carved a rough path, looking to be half-carrying Loki, whose posture was significantly more lax than a moment before.

Darcy gasped, a hand flying to her mouth as she spotted the bullet hole marring green material across his chest, the mischief god's blood spilling across Thor's armor and spattering onto the sidewalk. She absently noted Loki's blood was a vibrant crimson, just like hers, not the tar-like, ebony substance one would have expected, given who he was. The burly blonde god dragged them both past the front doors towards her, and she also noted the bright green gaze, filled with pain. Very absently noted those almost-pretty green eyes, as wheels started turning in her head. Had the cube been controlling him, too? And was its influence just now retracting?

All that crossed her mind in the moment it took Thor to reach them, and he sent a pleading look at Fury's stern expression. "I beg of you, help him. I will explain everything…" Fury was already turning, arms folded, to Darcy. "Lewis, page the med team a code red, get 'em down here. Everyone's in the field – I also want the closest team of agents back here pronto."

Thor lowered Loki gingerly onto a waiting area couch, and the scene would have been hilarious if she was looking at it through a GIF on tumblr or something, but this. This was her, in the middle of the shitstorm again. Darcy turned away, heading for the nearest phone before Fury's scowl set her hair on fire.

With that done, she returned tentatively to Fury's side, brow furrowed as she hazarded a glance outside. It wasn't pretty. How unfortunate they had clear glass doors, even if bulletproof. "What am I supposed to be doing?" Fury growled something about the "Green elephant in the room," before gesturing curtly to Thor and sweeping him into a side room to talk.

Darcy blinked, trying to look anywhere but at the bleeding god on the couch three feet in front of her. Tried to ignore his pained spasms, and the occasional patter of blood onto the expensive tile floor.

At last, an assistant appeared with several towels, assuring her a med team was on its way, and could she please help until they got there because this assistant was severely blood-phobic. And they probably wanted to live to see their next paycheck.

Darcy's stare could have felled a rhino, but she complied, wishing she had her taser as she approached Loki, who seemed unaware of her approach, staring into space as he clutched a hand to his chest. Scarlet leaked out in ribbons between his pale fingers, and his eyes were crinkled in what must have been a grimace, the lower half of his face still concealed by the creepy muzzle.

"Didn't know we could hurt you guys," she muttered, kneeling before him, her brain rejecting the irony of that action given what she had seen on video footage from Stuttgart, and reaching out a shaky hand to pry his own away from the wound. He started at her touch and she nearly squealed aloud, instead swallowing heavily, her eyes skittering away from the green pair that had locked onto her. Luckily, his hands fell away, not putting up a fight. She pressed the towel against the spot of his armor-slash-magical-wardrobe that seemed to be bleeding the most, murmuring apologetic gibberish and hoping aloud he wouldn't kill her on the spot.

"The battle depleted my magic." His smooth accent was a bit raspy, and startled her almost into losing her grip's pressure against his wound, as she realized it was in her head. In. Her. Head. She cocked an alarmed eyebrow at him but said nothing, glancing around to see if anyone was coming to relieve her. His voice continued. "That's why I am susceptible, and not healing."

Her brow arched higher as she muttered. "Clearly not depleted-" she emphasized the vocabulary he had used "-enough to stop a little teeny thing like telepathy-" She cut off as the room burst into activity, a medical team entering the lobby. They all frowned in distaste when they saw who their patient was, but obediently came towards Darcy and Loki, pulling out instruments and supplies as they moved.

The god in question was still staring intently at her, like she was some level nine Sudoku puzzle, and she didn't like it. Surrendering her hold to the medical professionals, she raised her hands like she was under arrest, jerkily backing away and praying a sink complete with foamy germ-killing soap would appear.

She wasn't sure why, but when Fury asked how her spur of the moment medical attention had gone, she'd shrugged, and omitted the part where Loki had proven himself distinctly un-powerless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not evident, we're just sorta tagging along through Darcy and Loki's reunions/interactions, up until...well. The plot, however, keeps expanding, and my ideas are multiplying like bunnies, for other possible fics. Enjoy!

He'd been moved to a cell after that, as had been expected, she supposed. Thor had explained that at their return, Odin had completely refused to harbor Loki, even to imprison him, and threatened to kill him on the spot. The tesseract, however, he'd reclaimed. Even Darcy had to wince at that – one's father wanting a glowy blue box thing over oneself.

She couldn't help feeling sometimes that SHIELD had caged an injured kitten, rather than the fierce panther they'd thought they had. Foolish metaphor for a foolish thought, but it was hers, and her thought patterns were nothing if not unique.

Two pay grades later, and a week after the Asgardian duo had returned, Darcy Lewis was Loki's official caretaker. Responsible for meal delivery, bossing-around of his cell patrol guards, and reports. Barton and Romanoff had likely bristled at the decision, and who knows what the other Avengers thought, but Thor was as near ecstatic as he could be, while his brother remained caged like a beast.

He'd quietly pulled Darcy aside one day, giving her a sugarcoated idea of what imprisonment in Asgard could be like, especially given the view nearly all its residents held of Loki. He'd clasped her hand between his big paws, thanking her for her gentle attentiveness to Loki, and she'd stared blankly as he bounded back down the hallway in search of Erik.

Since when was she given verbal gold medals by a god of thunder for pushing three square meals a day through a chute, and changing some bloody bandages when she was feeling brave? Oh, and observe his non-brother like the worst kind of stalker, for Fury's reports.

When she'd finished her degree, onto which she'd tacked a minor in psychology, hoping it would add frills to her intellect, there actually hadn't been much change in her usefulness to SHIELD, until now. Political science was not the most highly-regarded sort of expertise in a field where physical torture and espionage were the bread and butter. It had all changed with the addition of a prisoner who refused to talk, even with the muzzle removed, refused to eat much, didn't respond satisfactorily to pain, and who occasionally conjured snakes within his cell that would follow and torment poor janitors and lackey agents. Luckily, magic couldn't reach outside the confines of the cell, or they could be selling tickets and doubling as a reptile zoo.

Still, there didn't seem to be any particular malice in Loki's actions, only...mischief, and his eyes remained as green as those parts of his attire.

The odd thing was, there were never any snakes in sight when Darcy hit even just the hallway leading to his cell, and no one could figure out why. She refused to dress in the business attire commanded of everyone else, constantly lost her ID badge and needed keying into every other important doorway, and spouted terrible puns like that was her job, instead of monitoring the resident alien psycho. No one knew how the hell she'd gotten such a position, although honestly, no one else wanted it unless it was Barton, who would demand it came with free permission to enter the cell and beat the shit out of its resident any time they wanted.

Loki never gave any sign he liked Darcy, never gave any sign he disliked Darcy. There were just never any mishaps when she was around.

Fury seemed to appreciate her bluntness in their debriefings – she didn't "speak red tape", as he put it, and she was otherwise hypothetically qualified to monitor a captive that no one else would approach except with a cattle prod. He seemed satisfied with her work.

For her part, Darcy was fascinated. All of her schooling had been in an effort to understand power, those in it and those who sought it and how, and how the mind worked. She had a prime example in front of her of where that all went horribly wrong, and in a clinical mindset, she had THE example.

She'd heard from Thor of the revelations concerning Loki's heritage, she'd witnessed firsthand the rage-fueled embodiment of sibling rivalry gone wrong, and she'd of course been present for the hot mess that New York was still recovering from. She had the facts and disgusting casualty figures in front of her, and yet her mind wandered not to condemnation, but to what she would do in Loki's stead.

Could she judge? Could SHIELD? These were otherworldly beings, whose perceptions of mortality, violence among themselves, emotion, were all completely different and could probably never be accurately explained. To them, humans were gone in the blink of an eye, to sickness, violence of their very own kind, or time itself. Footnotes on the bottoms of pages of Asgardian lives, that's all she and humanity were, really.

A few unruly sacrifices, the straying sheep picked off by the wolves lingering at the edge of the pasture, to keep the rest of the herd in line. It had been done historically on Earth, in nearly every culture, and yet no one else seemed to see that. She wasn't blessing the bloodshed, but as a theoretical path to rule, she could, to her chagrin, see Loki's point. And was waxing poetic about it and his homicidal tendencies, she realized, smacking her forehead with her clipboard from where she sat, iPod blaring in her ears, an unlimited supply of purple gel pens at her disposal.

She could be perfectly content, if she weren't being paid to stare into a human-sized terrarium all day long.

A plush armchair tilted just-so looked out directly onto Loki in his cell, though there was not usually much to see. He would stand for freakishly-long periods of time in one spot, as though meditating, he would sit against the wall, one leg pulled up, for freakishly-long periods of time, and he would also watch her as closely as she watched him, for freakishly-long periods of time.

No, she didn't get snakes, but she had chills down her back all the same. Luckily, his telepathy couldn't reach beyond the cell, but sometimes she wondered what he was trying to say as he looked back at her, with those apple-green depths.

She suspected a force like him would never be accustomed to captivity, no matter how well he could pretend. He was like the wind, with a potential to destroy, and to help, and to do something chaotically bridging the two, and always, his actions were as unpredictable as the natural force. And so she began to devise a plan to free him, for better or for worse, an old professor's words about something called the chaos theory ringing in the back of her mind.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Several months later, New York was under attack, again.

"This really never gets old to anyone?!" Darcy shrieked, shoving a chair out of her way as she shakily navigated a darkened SHIELD hallway. "Seattle? Houston? Can someone pin the tail on the donkey somewhere else for once?!"

Her loud protestations echoed eerily, no one else around as she struggled to see her path. She realized she had probably drawn attention to herself when a loud growl sounded from somewhere behind her.

Sneaking a look, taser in hand, her jaw dropped. It was one of those cheese-starry things, from the first attack on the city. Tall, gray, and reeking like decay and blood, it was lumbering towards her, purple helmet lit up. She hoped it wasn't calling others.

Aiming her taser, Darcy closed her eyes as she fired it, rewarded with a loud thud and cut-off snarl. Pulling her last taser cartridge from her bag, she clumsily inserted it, knowing it had to last her making it it to the ground level.

Her posh babysitting gig over, she'd been transferred to what she referred to as the cellblock-where-joy-went-to-die, AKA accounting and statistics and where the secretaries of secretaries worked. She was unfortunate enough to be one of the latter, since SHIELD wouldn't let her seek other employment, knowing what she knew, and so she now printed, stapled and stacked paperwork all day long. It was a far cry from staring contests with intriguing green irises, but she couldn't complain, as they yet remained unaware of her role in his...unscheduled departure from their hospitality.

But really, she didn't even know whose secretary's secretary she was secretary of.

This morning had started like any other, until some scheduled network maintenance turned out to be the implantation of a malicious virus straight into their computer system. Screens had gone blank, cameras down, and alarms had started to sound. A moment later, a massive explosion sounded from somewhere near the ground level, several floors up.

Finally, human screams joined the fray.

Above the din, Darcy caught part of some protocol-initiating page, but frankly, you'd have to be a dog to make out what was being said, at least on this floor. So she shrugged, grabbing her laptop and hurriedly shoving anything important into her bag, retrieving her taser, which somehow sneakily escaped her locker every day now. When she turned to leave her desk, a shriek was the only warning she had before a heavy light fixture crashed down on a spot two feet away.

She froze, staring at the symbol of her potentially-imminent demise for a moment, before she realized she was the only person left in the room.

And here she was now, tiptoeing past a probably-not-but-hopefully-dead alien that was likely one of thousands swarming the building, with a one-shot taser in hand and a messenger bag full of granola bars and a laptop.

Inching around a corner, Darcy saw two more Chitauri down the hall. Their grunts showed they'd seen her, and she muttered a quick "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck-" before they were shooting towards the curve in the hall. Ducking back around the corner, she covered her face with her arms until the burst of light from their shots died down. A metallic click reached her ears, and she lowered her arms in horror, seeing some sort of grenade roll to a stop five feet from her.

It was lit up, and emitting a beeping noise that sped up faster and faster. She knew what that meant, looking around the enclosed area and willing her body to move away. She couldn't possibly move fast enough, and just as the beeping hit its highest pitch yet, something struck her, someone, bringing her to the ground with them and completely covering her body with theirs. She smelt leather, and something like the outdoors after a heavy rain, and waited for the explosion.

The explosion that didn't come, and as she hazarded a peek from under an elbow, the two disgruntled Chitauri rounded the corner, having noticed. Her savior urged her to stay down with a hand pressed against her shoulder, and she was only too willing to comply as he, it was totally a he, with that body frame, seemed to make short work of the aliens. She heard a blade drawn, and a crackling noise like fire, and then two loud thuds.

"Serves the cretin right, marshaled by an idiot as they are. Weapons aren't even functioning properly, and that computer virus was a laugh," the man muttered with disdain, and Darcy's eyes widened like saucers at the voice behind her.

Scrambling to her feet with a distinct lack of dignity, she swung around to see none other than Loki, brushing at his lapels in the debris-strewn, dim hallway like he was at a ball or something.

"You…" Her usually-deft tongue struggled to form words, and he looked up from his trench coat ministrations. "Darcy Lewis, with nothing to say. That is a sight."

Another crash sounded, and he quickly moved forward to grab her arm. "Come, we must get you above. I suspect the entire building may collapse, if their plan actually succeeds." He seemed to be able to see just fine in the unsteady light from emergency lights placed sporadically along the passageway, and guided her with a hand on her elbow and another at her back.

"The beasts, what's left of them, seek me. I failed to carry out their master's designs, and as such, have been deemed expendable. The extent to which the Chitauri's information is outdated is most unfortunate for them." She could hear the grin in his voice, but she still had no clue what to say. "Miss Lewis? Are you quite alright?"

She tried to speak, coughed at the dust in the air, and tried again. "What are you doing with me?"

He was silent a moment, surveying the blocked hallway before them before lifting her bodily. She yelped in protest, but he merely scaled the debris before setting her down again gently. "I owe you a debt. Several, actually, but I figured I had better begin repayment before you met an unfortunate end today and rendered the debt something else entirely."

All of her insight into his motives, his actions, everything was gone in this moment and she looked like an idiot and should she tase him, or…

A shout ahead of them revealed Captain America, his outfit still impossibly bright against the murky atmosphere, headed their way. Loki turned Darcy to face him, a smirk on his face as he lifted her hand to his lips. Pressing a kiss to it, he executed an elaborate bow. "I believe the dragon has rescued the fair maiden, this time."

With a shimmer of green light, he was gone, Steve reaching her a moment later. "Darcy? You okay?"

Captain America was talking to her, Captain America was talking to her and she'd almost died and a megalomaniac with magical powers had just bodily shielded her from an extraterrestrial grenade.

"Just peachy, Cap. I could do with a mocha, though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ~Bon


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we start jumping around a bit, because who recollects in chronological order, really, and it suits my purposes.
> 
> Response to this has been amazing, thank you so much, guys.
> 
> Also, M rating is in the forecast, it'll be bumping up soon. Yikes.
> 
> That being said, I work retail, and, well, next week is Black Friday. I've also got schoolwork, but this is eating at my brain and I do what I can when I can.
> 
> Thanks a ton again, for reading. Enjoy.

Darcy had picked a Tuesday, after several careful weeks of learning and planning. Or was it plotting, when what you intended to do was slightly devious in nature? Guard rotation, downtime for surveillance equipment, the usual meeting times for the higher-ups of SHIELD, she had it all memorized to the best of her abilities.

Sometimes, she wondered if Loki would remember something like the day of their meeting having been a Tuesday, that she was the one who had tended him, and discarded the thought with embarrassment and no small amount of reproach. She was simply being a decent human being, doing this, showing goodness could be done by less significant beings than himself, that forgiveness was a thing and more than a second chance could be given.

That's what she told herself, anyway, on the days she wondered whether he would just go on another killing spree once free.

She also felt that magnificent mane of black hair needed a decent trim and combing, but that was neither here nor there.

Once the decision was made, Darcy was aware there was no turning back, and that she was likely committing treason, several crimes against humanity, and probably making an enemy of beings even beyond her own world. Luckily, Thor had wandered off to parts unknown, Jane with him, and Darcy wouldn't feel as guilty. Part of the plan was to not be caught, of course, but...Regardless, she told Fury she would like to start interrogations – well, conversations, of her own with Loki, with the Director's permission.

It was easily granted, as no one else had achieved any measure of success in the weeks since Loki's incarceration, silence and serpentine mayhem the only results so far. He assured her, however, that his own flavor of interrogation would continue, if and when he chose. She tried to hide the involuntary chill down her back at the thought of Romanoff wielding a pair of pliers.

She began entering the cell each day, burdened with a gloriously-expensive clipboard that was mainly for show, assorted fountain pens in a rainbow spectrum of ink, and a trusty can of root beer. These were a far cry from the earlier days, when she'd crept in, hesitantly requesting to change his wound's bandages. But just like those times, Loki greeted her with silence, a respectful nod the only indicator he'd noticed she was there; that, and his eyes tracking her every movement from where he sat motionless.

She really, really disliked the fact that he was still bound, within cell walls, she'd decided. When he shifted, the shackles around his wrists inched up and down his forearms, revealing angry red abrasions on the pale flesh. She had also come in, on several different days, only to be told she had the day off, paid leave and everything, because questions were being "asked" of Loki. She'd heard the gasps of pain and clinking of instruments from the next room on one particular occasion, demanding Fury tell her exactly how those questions were being asked. He'd said something about that information being classified, and sent her home with a warning.

Seeing the wounds that were likely an incessant pain, her mind filled with textbook passages. She'd studied torture and mental illness, and how one could lead to the other; lobotomies, electroshock therapy, blades under the fingernails, all highly-touted methods by which a desired mental cooperation or state was supposedly achieved. She wouldn't sit by while the Asgardian-slash-alien edition of those textbooks was written.

Loki seemed to notice her scrutiny of his bindings, edging his hands into his lap and pulling his legs up from his seated position on the pitiful bed. His head cocked mutely to the side, a question in his eyes.

With a start, Darcy came back to herself. "Oh god – ha ha, see the irony in that – anyways, I, um, I've come to talk, Loki." His name aloud felt weird on her lips, and she rather liked it. She moved to the small table in the cell, plopping down her clipboard and various stationary supplies, before flinging herself in the rickety fold-up chair. The lack of wheels sorely disappointed her, as it forced sitting still. She still found a way to rock it back and forth on its legs, probably annoying the hell out of the god, but he never indicated any irritation. Didn't indicate much of anything ever, actually, and she wondered if the potential boredom would be worth it.

She asked him a few basic questions that everyone else had likely asked, and even some provocative ones about his failure and motives, gauging his reactions carefully as she'd learned. He seemed well in-check, balanced even. This wasn't the Loki from Stuttgart's broadcast, she secretly noted with no small amount of pride and satisfaction.

Well into the hour appointment, her hand froze mid-scrawl, realizing she'd been responding aloud to responses that were not, well, verbal. His telepathy felt almost natural at this point and she really wasn't going to get into that fact with herself, instead swallowing and casually glancing around the room. She'd learned his room was only visually surveyed unless official interrogations were taking place, audio unnecessary when he seldom had visitors and never talked. She was comforted by that knowledge. Slightly.

She probably still looked nuts on the cameras, and would have to chuck out these notes, insisting he refused to talk to her. She was damn lucky everyone considered her wayyyyy far beneath scrutiny. She was a name on a long payroll, who cracked jokes. That was all, and that suited her purposes just fine.

In any case, he was surprisingly candid with her, albeit via Headtalk, which she had named his one-sided telepathic conversations, and she learned a lot. He even tried her root beer once, giving a small thumbs-up that she nearly bawled with laughter at. He probably believed he was never getting out, and this would be all he'd ever have for company, and that thought sobered her.

Darcy began leaving books and other reading materials behind on "accident", which was sadly believable, given her attention span, but she was secretly pleased when she'd retrieve them the next day, visibly thumbed-through.

As her plan developed, she started leaving post-it notes in them for Loki, written in childish Spanish, pretending she was learning the language in her spare time and translating pieces she'd already read, when anyone asked. In truth, she'd learned that Loki's abilities included a sort of sense called "Allspeak", where he generally knew what was being said in any sort of language, especially written. He likely knew a lot of Latin as well from his already-lengthy existence, and Darcy had never been so glad for those three years of Spanish in high school.

A warehouse-worth of root beer cans later, they had a plan, even if it had been laid out in rudimentary Spanish, fraught with grammatical disasters, on colorful post-its that were burned within his fist as soon as Loki had seen them. The trickster had demanded several times to know why she was helping him, and she had never answered. She wasn't sure she could.

The day arrived, and she arrived at her office, dumping all her stuff in her office beyond the cell. She was dressed only in a long-sleeved tee and jeans, which she quickly regretted when she swiped her keycard to enter Loki's cage. It was perpetually frigid, something about his frost giant genetics affecting smaller spaces if he so chose, although she noticed the temperature typically rising whenever she entered.

Pausing halfway through the door, she craned backwards as if to check something on a screen in her office, and when she turned her head back, Loki was in front of her, as if on cue. She let out a gasp as his chilled palms, still bound, pressed to her temples. His expression was almost only halfheartedly menacing, some hesitancy visible in his actions as she started screaming.

A searing pain had filled her head, like every hangover she'd ever sported hitting her brain all at once, and when he abruptly let go, she fell to her knees, then sideways onto the cold cement floor. Her clouding vision noted a slight look of panic on his face as he watched her fall, before a green light was shimmering across him, morphing his form before her eyes as he knelt to snatch her keycard. For a split second, she saw herself standing over her, sans handcuffs and smirking, and then everything went black.

When she awoke, the only thing SHIELD could get out of her was an indignant "He stole my iPod!" and they quickly abandoned the Darcy line of interrogation.

She couldn't recall if theft of her device, which had been boasting several exclusive new songs obtained by questionable means, had been in her plan, and would afterwards wonder if she wanted to catch Loki more than SHIELD did.

She still couldn't recall the exact method of his escape, thanks to her request that the details be wiped from her mind in her defense. She had been the mastermind though, that knowledge kept intact; it was alternately a point of pride and chagrin to her, decades later.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A door closing startled her from her reminiscent doze, and Darcy opened tired eyes to see her ex-husband crossing to her beside. "Ian."

"Darcy. How are you feeling?" He clasped her cold hand in his warm ones, pressing a kiss to it. She tried not to wince, instead pulling her hand from his grasp with as much strength as she could muster. It's like her illness had somehow reinstated their marriage, and she would have none of it. Things died for a reason.

"Oh, you know, just great. Did a bit of aerobics, baked a cake, got a lot of use out of my day." Her tone was brittle, like her façade would break any second.

His brown eyes were focused on her reproachfully, and she regretted they weren't green nearly every time she saw them. It was a serious problem, this eye racism, she thought idly.

"The girls are coming by tomorrow." Her ex's British accent had always been rough, uncultured, a cockney edge to it that grated on her ears, made her yearn to hear a story crooned in the dulcet tones she had conversed with daily, so long ago.

"Lovely. Be a dear and hit my painkiller button, would you?" She was really in no mood to talk house with him, not now. He sighed, acquiescing with a sadness that sparked a very tiny feeling of regret within her. Fifteen years of divorce couldn't completely negative the eight happy-ish ones they'd shared. She'd have to apologize for her bitchiness before she went.

"Talked to your doctor. They said there are some small signs of improvement! They're calling in a Norwegian specialist to see you, see if he can work any magic." Her eyes flew open at that statement, and she eyed him warily, wondering if his wording was intentional.

"Anyways, I also brought you this." Ian proffered a baggy sweater, one of her favorites, her go-to when she needed something comfy to cuddle into. Her eyes filled with tears as he gently worked it over her shoulders, and she patted his hand awkwardly, managing to sniffle only once. "Thank you, Ian." He muttered something falsely assuring, pressing a kiss to her temple. Her eyes closed at the contact, a tear breaking free to trail down her cheek as he quietly left.

She felt like a sandcastle, the tide of her mortality lapping closer and closer, eating at her very foundation.

Closing her eyes, she half-wished for a strong wave.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Slamming shut her front door, which was probably more expensive than a year's rent at her last place, Darcy sagged against the wood, sliding towards the floor with an exhausted sigh. She sat there, slumped and glaring at a patch of hardwood flooring for several quiet moments, until a rustling sound from her living room reached her ears.

Reaching into her bag for her ever-trusty taser, she simultaneously pushed herself from the floor as quietly as she could. This was a SHIELD-sponsored apartment on the twelfth floor of a building neighboring Stark Tower, and she had no idea what sort of intruder had the balls and skills to be prowling on her death-defying terrace.

Flinging herself into her living room in what she hoped was some sort of FBI-based rolling crouch, Darcy only succeeded in looking like a complete idiot. To an empty room, by all appearances. Only the curtains across one window were moving, waving in a breeze coming through the opened shutter. What the-

"Miss Lewis." She shrieked bloody murder, turning and firing her taser at the nearest object. Her true target dodged, and she succeeded in rendering a twelve-inch Eiffel tower replica unconscious. Dropping the weapon, prongs and all still attached, Darcy pivoted, slipping her bag over her head to use as a bludgeon, if necessary, but her eyes caught a tumbler of whiskey, sitting on the coffee table innocently. A glance noted the bottle on a side table, uncapped, before her eyes moved to the couch itself, where her intruder was now reclining, clad comfortably in some sort of Viking casual wear. Leather was involved, and she gulped.

"Loki," she breathed, uncertain of whether to maintain her defensive stance or drop the bag and quaff a mouthful of her expensive scotch that he'd obviously helped himself to. One could never visibly tell which way the wind blew, after all.

"Please, contain your excitement at my unexpected appearance." He flicked a finger, and another tumbler joined his on the table. She wondered if she looked at the bottle again, if another inch would be missing. Fascinating, the sciencey-magical art of conjuring. His dry laugh ended that thought. "Everything has to come from somewhere." And there she had her answer, but-

"No. Nope, out of my head. I appreciate you're at least speaking aloud in my presence and deigning to actually employ that silver tongue, but no, get outta there. I've had a long day and I didn't come home for mischief god shenanigans to interfere in my primetime lineup, thanks." She made a decision, opting for casual conversation in the face of potential death and flinging her bag onto a matching armchair. Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, collapsing onto the couch beside him but decidedly ignoring the deity to her right.

Flipping to a channel at random, she came across a Lord of The Rings marathon on cable. "Sweet."

Nonchalantly, she leaned forward, propping her feet on the table and unzipping her boots, kicking them to the carpet. Her socks followed, and she wiggled her toes in relief, snatching up the tumbler of whisky and taking a drought. "Mm. 1982. Good year."

"You wouldn't know," the voice beside her accused, and she arched a brow. "You would, I guess?"

There was a pause, then- "No, actually. I have not concerned myself in Midgardian dealings since the dark ages until…more recently."

"Scotch is supposed to prompt distinctly un-awkward conversation," Darcy continued on, befuddling Loki even more. She grinned into her glass, glad to have thrown off the Master of Unpredictable so quickly after he'd done the same to her. She could roll with spontaneity, though. "Want Chinese?"

She felt his stare, and turned to meet it, waggling her now-empty glass. "Scotch on an empty stomach is a terrible idea, even you should know that." He bowed his quietly in affirmation, eyes downcast.

"I often feel as if we are merely continuing a postponed conversation, you and I, mortal girl," he suddenly admitted, fidgeting with the cuff of his dark green tunic. "You have a remarkable gift for casual conversation in the most tumultuous of circumstances."

"I'm, scratch that, the scotch is gonna take that as a compliment, handsome, despite the whole mortal jab," she called casually, padding into her kitchen for a takeout menu, hopefully not giving away the fact that she'd nearly stopped her own heart with that endearment. What the fuck was she saying? What was in this stuff? "Was there something you needed, anyways?"

"Besides a healthy dose of your terrible jests?" His voice sounded from directly behind her, and she spun, to find herself trapped against the counter, her forehead nearly hitting Loki's chin. He grinned, and the expression was a surprising collage of danger and glee. Maybe they were one and the same, with Loki. She choked on air as he leaned past her, leaning past her to place his empty glass in her sink, and with a shimmer of light, was back across the room.

"Stop doing that," she chastised after clearing her throat. "Be nice like you were in the cell, quiet and no tricks."

His face darkened, and she held her breath, anticipating the drop in room temperature before it happened. "Do not speak of my incarceration."

Rolling her eyes, she pointedly retrieved a sweater from the back of a kitchen chair, shrugging it on and flinging her dark locks from beneath the collar. "I totally did a night in juvie back in high school, so chill. Um, or not," she stammered, as her thermostat dropped another couple degrees.

"I merely wanted to offer proper thanks," he admitted a minute later, starting to pace her living room as he switched topics in a remarkably Darcy-like fashion. "For your actions during my, ah, stay at SHIELD headquarters. I recognize the honor in your actions, going against your superiors to…aid me, and I feel our last meeting was interrupted."

She was going to give herself whiplash, her eyes shooting all around the room as she contemplated the idea of her apartment being bugged.

"If there were any electronic devices, they have been disabled since my arrival," Loki assured her, pausing by a window to look out at the city lights sprawled beneath them. "I imagine your creative tongue will have an excuse for their malfunction, if it comes to light."

She was squinting at him, arms folded across her chest. "You broke into my apartment to give an eight months' late thank-you?"

For once, his eyes didn't meet hers, skittering across the room and landing on a framed picture of her and Jane, smiling and laughing at a festival back in New Mexico. "I am not here to harm you, if that is what you fear."

"I'm not afraid of you," she deadpanned. "I'm starving and need a shower and sleep, though, if we're cataloging my current grievances."

"I still owe you a great deal." His quiet words somehow felt louder to her, and she waited for elaboration. "There is…There can be something of substance among humanity, I see that now." His emerald eyes flickered towards her uncertainly, and she reveled for a moment in the persistent lack of blue in his irises. "Thank you, Darcy Lewis. I'm sure we'll meet again." With that, he was gone, and Darcy was left staring alternately at the much-depleted bottle of Scotch, and her tased Eiffel tower, toppled to the ground with prongs still intact.

"That happened, right?" She wondered aloud, wishing she had some sort of confirmation.

She found it, in a strange gold chain left on her pillow, a tiny emerald pendant the only adornment.

"I feel like some sort of kept woman…kept minion," she corrected as she mumbled to herself, wandering into the bathroom to get ready for bed. "Please don't have an evil plan."

She started wearing the necklace every day, even buying clothes that would set it off against her skin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is creeping up on me, changing directions and things...We shall see what makes the final cut. Thanks for reading!

Miraculously, between conspiring with the enemy, bungling simple paperwork filing, and charging obscene amounts of money to her SHIELD credit card for things like designer boots, Darcy was promoted. Perhaps they thought another three-pay-grade bump would curb her expenditure on their card, perhaps they wanted to foist her upon more limited company. In any case, Darcy Lewis was now personal assistant to none other than Steve Rogers, America's golden boy in the guise of Captain America.

She couldn't complain; her new boss was quite possibly the epitome of chivalry, sometimes going so far as to offer to grab her coffee. He would wave it off, claiming coffee runs felt like a normal, everyday activity, the sort of thing he missed, since caffeine, alcohol, and nearly anything else you could rattle off didn't affect him. Darcy dubbed him the big, spangled Energizer bunny, and the nickname spread through headquarters, to his horror. The coffee offers decreased slightly for a time afterwards.

A few months after her promotion, Darcy lived in a permanent state of befuddlement. She really did nothing for Captain America, and had no idea why the hell she had the position. She had wasted no time in tapping into those hefty paychecks though; she'd probably paid the bills of a whole city of eBay sellers.

He'd give her odd little…tests, it seemed, like throw pencils at her when she was unaware, scrutinizing her when she caught them, shaking his head sadly when she didn't. He also asked her one day how much she could bench-press.

"Look," she'd responded, eyebrows into her hairline and hands raised in a defensive gesture, "I don't know if you've just got like, no bros to hang out with or you're like in need of some testerone-pumped company, but the only time I bench-press is when I gotta lean my shoe up against one to tie the lace, boss. I can't compare dicks with you, buddy, though I'm sure that'd be a pretty fascinatingly scientific venture-" She cut off at his horrified look and prominent blush, shrugging her shoulders and crying "You asked!", flipping her chair back around to troll tumblr some more.

Sometimes, he'd come into his office – she wasn't sure why he had one, he looked ridiculous sitting behind a desk, this was Captain America – and lay out schematics for different missions, asking her opinions on extraction routes and things like that. She'd stare in slack-jawed surprise, but made shockingly astute observations, pointing out subtle flaws in the logic, and he would smile fondly, like a teacher whose student just gave the first right answer all week.

When it hit five months, she was told she would be inducted into agent training, if she was willing. The resulting thud of her jaw hitting the floor had probably been heard in Miami.

Speechless, she'd attempted interrogative hand gestures, hoping Steve understood her by this point. He'd grinned, telling her that her progress through SHIELD's rankings had been monitored with interest, and her dealings with the extreme situations she ended up in had impressed greatly. He had volunteered to take her on as an assistant and gauge her skills, mentally and physically, and while even the likes of the hulk could beat her on the shooting range, she was sharp as a knife when it came to intuition.

"Plus, you can handle your weight in vodka," he joked, having witnessed firsthand her prowess with liquor on several office outings, "And Romanoff is even impressed by that! I think you're in."

He warned her it would be tough, and his words proved true, though Darcy Lewis was nothing if not up for a challenge, as she'd shown time and time again. Dealing with a basically perpetually-PMS-ing god of trickery for weeks on end had honed her patience, her observational and mood-gauging skills, and her reflexes weren't too bad either. She used to jump at shadows, but they now felt like an old friend, and she took them in stride.

She excelled at the physical obstacle courses they'd run her through, her IQ test scored triple digits that outranked the majority of American ivy league students, and she quickly made friends with fellow trainees and mentors alike.

Then, the call had come in, from an outpost in Germany - chatter had been heard, that a neo-HYDRA group had been causing problems, and taking things that didn't belong to them.

Formed several years before, they had taken a keen interest in Loki's actions in Stuttgart, and subsequent attempts at taking New York. Tinkering around in garages and basements with nazi-era HYDRA relics and weaponry, garnered from who knew where, had apparently led to some measure of success for the group. They robbed and went uncaught, kidnappings were linked to them, and several high-profile murders of public officials. They had a webcast on the internet, updated on a Tuesday evening with a post that claimed they had caught the god of mischief, and he was going to help them start a new world order. The post was complete with a grainy picture of a bound Loki.

SHIELD's higher-ups were likely foaming at the mouth, at the prospect of taking out a pretty potentially-dangerous guerilla group, and reclaiming their prize Asgardian prisoner.

Darcy was simply chilled to her core, for reasons she could not explain.

And then the orders came to suit up. Shocked, she'd assumed she'd heard wrong, until Steve ducked his head into his office and asked why she wasn't ready to move. Several key players were either literally in the middle of a mission, or deep undercover, or needed for other projects, although she couldn't imagine what was more pressing than this. She was probably a little biased.

Fingering the necklace at her collarbone nervously, Darcy had nodded, standing with more bravado than she felt, and following Steve down the hall. He led her to the uniform room, where she was given a quick fitting, and then to the weapon room, telling her the standard arsenal each agent carried on them in a hostile situation.

She'd added her taser to her utility belt, figuring it couldn't hurt. She'd been told to remove jewelry and other accessories, but she snuck her necklace under the neckline of a ridiculously tight leather top. It was her good luck charm, and she needed so very much of that right now.

Two other rookies were suiting up alongside her, quaking in their literal boots, and she nearly snorted aloud in derision at them. Nervous at first, she had quickly grown calm and collected as Steve walked her through the motions of prepping for mission deployment. Her goal was in sight, and she just had to keep her eyes on the prize, something SHIELD worded as "retrieving a lost asset". She thought of it as saving the really, really fine ass of that pair of emerald eyes that tended to stroll through her dreams like they were scenic nature trails.

A moment of vanity struck, and she preened a bit in a floor-length mirror in the armory, probably there to ascertain holsters and stuff were in place properly. The tight leather suit was topped by her own leather jacket, a dark olive green, and black boots completed the look, a dagger tucked into one.

She looked legitimately badass, if she said so herself. Apparently she had, aloud, because another cadet nodded, close-mouthed and wide-eyed, suddenly having extreme difficulty with his second boot, the first of which he'd just fastened with no problem. A smug smile plastered across her face, Darcy double-checked her fastenings, sparing a quiet hope for Loki's relatively well-being, and headed to the hanger.

Darcy, ever an avid tourist, had craned to see out the plane window the entire time, even while they were over the Atlantic Ocean, murky darkness the only thing visible at that time of night. Bummer, she'd have liked to see some German countryside, knock a couple birds out with one stone, because who knows if she'd screw this up and maybe never get another shot at a free flight to Europe?

All too soon it seemed, they were descending into what Steve called an un-contained heavy zone, and panic threatened to overtake. One hand reached reflexively for her chest, a thumb rubbing across the emerald pendant. The movement comforted, and she cleared her throat, running through protocol in her mind.

The facility was some sort of abandoned chemical plant, occupying several acres. It was massive, and there was nothing to do but split up. Once they were in, Darcy felt ridiculous. They were rats in a maze, a maze with potentially hazardous breathing air and broken metal pipes and a precarious infrastructure and she wouldn't have agreed to this shit if Loki wasn't in trouble-

A clanking behind her startled Darcy, and she whirled, pulling a gun as she'd been taught.

"Davis?" She hissed in a whisper, squinting in the near-darkness. Her partner was nowhere to be seen or heard. "Aww fuuu-" A bang suddenly sounded from a floor up, and it could have been a door or a gun, but it was followed by a thud. Her hands started to shake, much to her dismay, and she opted to put the gun away, trying to silence her breathing as she started forward. It was all she could do. They hadn't had many schematics to go off of, and it was dark and a light would give her away; the plan was perhaps ten percent thought-through, given their late notice, and she almost started laughing. She was totally going to die.

The only notice she had that anything was happening was a sudden tearing noise, and an instant nausea. It felt like she was on a roller coaster that had just hit the downward hurdle, and she let out a scream before it felt like a giant vacuum sucked her up.

It lasted about five seconds, and Darcy found herself in a completely different area of what looked like the same structure, panting heavily and slowly turning on the spot, wide-eyed.

"What…just…happened."

Her limbs were shaking uncontrollably and she knew, she knew she wasn't ready for the big kid stuff, and she was going to be fired and have to buy her clothes from Target from here on. A strangled groan sounded from behind her, and Darcy froze, her head slowly swiveling to side-eye the chamber behind her.

"You've got to be kidding me. Did you do that?" Her voice cut through the silence like a knife, her breath making frosty clouds in the freezing air as she spoke to a form huddled on the ground before her. "I sure hope you fried my comm headset with that little magic show, or this is gonna get super awkward super fast." She feigned nonchalance and annoyance in the face of her relief, boots thudding on the concrete floor as she approached Loki.

Something was wrong, something was different and she knew it as soon as she saw him. He was shuddering, there was blood on the ground, yes, but – he flung a hand upwards, grasping at thin air for a moment in his pain, and her mouthed opened in a silent "O".

It was blue. His hand was blue.

"This is what's behind the mask, huh, phantom," she murmured, crouching at Loki's back, which faced her. She reached a gentle hand across his torso to flip him towards her, but he resisted with a snarl.

"Don't…look," he panted, curling in on himself with another gasp of pain.

"What've they done to you?" She asked softly, rubbing a comforting hand along his still leather-clad arm, looking around the room. She noted a crowbar tossed against one wall, a dark substance smeared on the floor beneath it, and her blood chilled in a way the room temperature had no control of.

"Loki, c'mere. Look at me. SHIELD is here and they're going to take you and I don't know what you did, but…You obviously want me here. What am I supposed to do?" Her voice was pitiful to her own ears, a plea audible in every syllable.

He finally rolled over, slowly, facing her with a visage that was very much the Loki she knew, merely painted in shades of indigo. It was a pleasing effect, if she said so herself, and she raised a hand to his cheek, petting it lightly before she remembered herself. "It's not bad at all," she muttered, pulling away and adjusting his coat around him. "Can you stand?"

"I'm an abomination," he moaned lowly, and she rolled her eyes with an indignant huff. "Come on teenaged drama queen, we have got to get you out of here. No time for vanity, and besides, you look fine. What happened? Couldn't you have teleported yourself in the first place?"

"They soon…realized I had not the power I previously held, when I came here," he ground out, shading his eyes with a blue hand. She noted the almost-tribal markings with interest. "And proceeded to try to beat it out of me, to crack me like an egg for my magical yolk…Healing after each attempt has drained my reserves, I'm afraid. And I do wish to avoid further incarceration."

She laughed aloud, startling him into silence, a dark brow raising as his hand fell from his face. "What is so amusing?"

"You're Darcy-fying!" She managed between dwindling giggles. "That metaphor, I-" A noise sounded from what could have been a floor above or below, and they both tensed.

"Listen, I don't know how you knew I was here, but I'm totally only an agent-in-training and I'm supposed to like, alert the chain of command I've found something and…" His feeble hand plastered across her mouth shushed her.

"I know. That is, I'm aware you've been training." His crimson eyes flitted away from her, hand falling from her mouth, and she folded her arms across her leather-clad chest suspiciously, rising from her crouched position.

"This doesn't, like, monitor me, does it-" She started, pulling out the necklace she fondled so often. "Because that would bring an entirely new meaning to creepy, one that I'm not sure I want to help escape from a neo-nazi dungeon."

He made a placating movement with one hand, grimacing with the movement. "I…keep my distance, but as of yet I still owe you. Don't flatter yourself too much. Keeping tabs on an asset is quite a SHIELD-like tactic, is it not? This concept should be familiar to you." His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Very pleased to see you wearing my trinket, however."

"I'm not an asset to be watched, but your mouth needs to be," she warned in a hiss, head whipping around at another clanking downstairs. "You're also going to owe me like, five times more after today. Seriously, get yourself outta here."

"I…cannot," he admitted. "Teleporting another is much easier than oneself, for reasons I cannot fathom, and I sensed your presence, using the last of my energy to bring you here."

She just stared. "Still not seeing a point, unless it's to get me a promotion for finding you first, or opposingly, to get me fired when someone finds us chatting like a couple of old war buddies."

"Help." His eyes, rendered scarlet by the same lack of magical strength that broke his Asgardian façade, seemed to plead with her, despite their fiery depths. He was still struggling to remain in an upright sitting position, and she sighed gustily, no longer caring about secrecy.

She had just started back towards him when two of the wannabe HYDRA crew entered the room.

"Eeee." Her exclamation of dismay trailed off, as she eyed the two burly men. Heads shaved close to their heads, clad in denim jacket and heavily gloved, they looked pretty darn menacing. Loki was between her and them, and his head turned back to her when he saw who their company was.

"Forget me, just run, Darcy."

"Nope."

"Run, you fool!"

"Foolish mortal girl or not, I'm not gonna pass up a chance to use my new badass skills." His response was cut off with an agonized cry of pain, as the Germans moved towards her, one kicking him in the ribs as they passed. Her jaw squared, and she fumbled for her gun, almost laughing when she realized she'd lost it somewhere in the middle of teleportation land.

"The Loki way it is," she mumbled, curving a leg upwards to retrieve a dagger from her boot, inhaling deeply and running through a list of tactics Steve had told her to use when facing someone much bigger than her. The first guy came at her, and she dodged to the side, aiming a kick at his shin that sent him sprawling with a roar.

She had a split second of satisfaction before the other guy was on her, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her upwards, a yell from Loki ringing in her ears. She brought her knees up to her chest, crushing them against the man's arms, and the imbalance of weight let his grip slacken for a moment. Using that chance, she angled the dagger in her hand, trapped at her side, upwards, jabbing blinding at his abdomen, rewarded with a hoarse cry, and she was promptly dropped.

The other man was on her again, bulldozing across the room and fully tackling her to the floor. Her head hit the cement with a blow only slightly diverted by a craning of her neck, and her daze allowed beefy hands to come around her neck. Oh shit.

She pretended to struggle viciously for a moment, and then went completely limp, eyes closing as she let out a final gasp. The pressure continued for another moment to make sure she was incapacitated, and the panic started to boil within her, that her show would become real. But the man did let go, as planned, a chuckle escaping his lips as a hand trailed down her chest.

Yuck.

With as much force as she could muster, thankful she'd been forced to transition to contacts instead of eyeglasses, she flung her head upwards, butting the guy in the forehead hard enough to knock him off of her. Lots of concealer would be needed this week, she mused. Leaping to her feet, she executed a quick kick to his head while he was down, whipping out her taser and laying him out cold. Tossing the used device to the side, she looked up. The badassery was like, flowing through her veins.

One down, one more muscled angry German dude to go. And he had pulled out a knife from somewhere. Peering closer in the flickering light from a fixture high above the room, Darcy saw it was one of Loki's daggers. Irony.

She darted a glance at the wounded god behind her, who had pulled himself to the edge of the room with grim resignation, watching raptly. He seemed to be muttering, and she hoped it was some sort of helpful prayer or something.

Fluidly lunging to the side to retrieve her own fallen dagger, Darcy fell into a semi-crouch, mirroring the other man's own stalking movements. They circled each other, and she feigned a movement towards him, provoking the man into a lunge to the right. She'd anticipated that – yay, correctly – and altered her path to come at him straight-on. She managed a slice to his bulky bicep, ducking under his swing and pirouetting to face him again.

Loki made a strangled noise, and she cocked an eyebrow in his direction distractedly, before a burning in her leg became fiercely noticeable. Glancing down with a cringe, she saw a slice in the leather painted onto her thighs, blood beginning to leak.

"I just got these," she whined aloud, circling the man again. A crackling noise reached their ears, and Darcy's head cocked to the side, puzzled. The other man was doing the same, until he realized with a bark of alarm that the back of his shirt was on fire. Flailing, he tried to bat at it, and Darcy took her chance, flinging her dagger with the precision she'd mastered after weeks and weeks of practice. It hit him square in the chest, and she didn't stop to wonder if he was dead or not.

Turning to Loki, who was now wheezing with the effort of concocting the diversion flames, Darcy fell to her knees before him, ignoring the blood painting her leg.

"You're injured," he managed, a shaky hand reaching for her thigh. She swatted it away with a curt "Hands off, touchy-feely," and cupped his face in her hands. His red eyes met her cerulean ones with hesitance, but she was insistent.

"I can get you out of this room, probably, hide you somewhere in the facility? Tell SHIELD a story about falling and breaking my com unit, blabla, happening across the room of diabolic intentions, taking the guys out but you escape, etcetera. Could you recuperate enough to get yourself out, eventually?"

He nodded slowly, eyelids fluttering, and she struggled to her own feet, moving her hands to his shoulders. Shouts sounded again, and she eyed the two downed Germans with anxiety, praying that this place really was a labyrinth, and no SHIELD or HYDRA people alike would find them anytime soon.

One arm across the back of Loki's shoulders, the other pulling at his forearm, she got him to his feet with no small difficulty. The guy was a head taller than her, his wardrobe was elaborate and tough to get a grip on, and he was staggering on his feet like a limp noodle. Recipe for success, right here.

With her soft words of encouragement, punctuated by hisses of pain that she was sure he despised letting escape, they made it out of the room and mostly through the next one. Several concrete pillars decorated the open area, and she propped him against one, trying to catch her own breath after her exhilarating fight, and continuing blood loss.

Chancing a glance down at her leg, she grew dizzy at the gleam of liquid now traipsing down her boot and onto the ground. But Loki was more hurt and at more risk than her, and she couldn't, wouldn't leave him to be caught once again. Having been captured again already, goodness knows what sort of PTSD symptoms would be manifesting right now if he weren't so wounded.

Rubbing a hand along his upper back, she deemed her breath caught enough. "Let's keep moving." Her voice was low and tired, and she didn't like the fatigue consuming her actions.

"Leave me," he muttered, voice hoarse.

"We discussed this, I won't, Loki." She spoke like a mother to a child, pulling his arm back over her shoulder and half-dragging him to a downward flight of stairs. He smelt like blood, and that after-rain scent she often associated with him. Must be a cold thing.

She was never sure of how she did it, but they managed to get down a flight of stairs, before she found a door leading outside. Leaving him leaned against the doorway, she crept outside, making certain no SHIELD helicopter was scanning the area.

When she'd retrieved the ailing god, she worked their way towards the tree line. "I really hope your dignity is up for as much a blow as your body was tonight," she murmured apologetically, "Because I think I'm gonna have to leave you in the woods. This isn't gonna inspire any new abandonment issues, is it, because I'm not taking on the blame for you blowing up Munich because I had to stash you under some shrubbery."

He hardly responded, and she knew that was a bad sign. "I'm sorry. In for a penny, in for a pound, or whatever the fuck they say," she muttered, spotting a tree up ahead with a massive root nest at its base.

"You can think of this as some au natural throne or something, 'kay?" She cajoled, more or less throwing Loki's limp form down against the roots. "I don't even…" She wavered on her own feet, throwing out a hand to lean against a root as she staggered.

When the dizziness subsided, she straightened, inhaling deeply. "Fresh alpine air, mm." She looked down at Loki, whose eyes were slits as one arm clutched at his side. "Promise you'll be alright?"

He looked up, managing a nod. "Darcy Lewis…stories would be told of you, if you were of our world," he whispered with a choked laugh.

"Yeah yeah, actually, there are several unsavory tales of me around online anyways," she joked halfheartedly, "if the SHIELD forums are any indicator." Her vision spun again, and she raked a hand through her hair. "I have to go."

As she made her way back through the trees, she caught his voice once more. "We'll meet again." She nodded, making her way back to the facility before promptly passing out halfway through a threshold.

She later gave SHIELD the entire story she'd concocted with Loki, that she'd lost her partner in the maze, came across the Germans holding Loki, took them out to get at their captive, who then poofed himself away. His dagger had been found with one of the incapacitated men, verifying Loki's presence. She'd have to find a way to get that back. She finished her story telling them she'd spent the rest of her time searching the facility for the rest of them, before passing out from blood loss. Someone had thankfully retrieved her taser, but she definitely didn't know where she'd left her gun.

It was probably orbiting Mars or something by now.

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Most of Darcy's doctors were somber, depressing people, growing even more so when they entered her room everyday. What had bedside mannerisms come to? She felt like the equivalent of a death row inmate, the wardens knowing they wouldn't be dealing with them much longer.

The Norwegian specialist, as it turned out, was a short, rotund man named Birger Solberg. His receding hairline and warm brown eyes gave him a harmless air, and he was the embodiment of cheerfulness in comparison with her own doctors. She immediately insisted upon calling him "burger", which he loved, rather than the "beer-grr" he had announced himself as, in his lyrical accent.

He bustled in with an air of activity that was at odds with his appearance, and Darcy liked him on the spot. A tall assistant followed him, holding a bag of instruments, his movements nervous.

"He is still learning," the specialist murmured apologetically, patting Darcy's arm when she jumped slightly at the noise of the assistant dropping a clipboard. "Amund, my boy, please hand me my tablet-"

She was always surprised at how technology's advances had leveled out, things not much different than they had been decades ago.

Darcy's girls were in the room, visiting, their father thankfully absent. They'd insisted on being there, and she had no way to force them out. Secretly, she wanted their company, and their forceful personalities made it no small task to make them leave, so she gave in.

Anna was ogling the assistant with absolute aplomb, and Darcy had to elbow her lightly to get her eyes off the poor boy, whose strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes were lovely even in the drab hospital lighting. She was only nineteen, and Darcy couldn't blame her, honestly, but she assumed some decorum would be appreciated by the hapless guy trying to balance an expensive tablet in one hand and vital medical equipment in the other.

"What's this?" Heads turned towards Alice, who was holding up a vial of medicine with great interest, turning it this way and that in the light. She was twenty-three, interested in anything and everything new to her, but Darcy would be damned if she let loose a malicious virus or something because she had to touch a bottle.

"Alice Frigga Lewis, give the man back his gear," she reprimanded hoarsely, only ending her glare when her daughter meekly handed the vial back to the assistant. He nearly dropped it, brows furrowing as he looked at her sheepish daughter.

Birger clapped his hands. "Now, my lady, a simple blood drawing and we will see what we have got here…" Darcy's mouth quirked to the side. "You don't trust my doctors' charts?"

"With their closed-off faces and complete lack of tact, my dear, no, I do not. I conduct my own personal tests, free of the taint of outside interference, and I have several tricks up my sleeve for treatment of any condition known to man!"

He really thought a lot of himself, but in a hilarious way, and she chuckled at his terminology, proffering her forearm as he prepped a needle to draw blood. He seemed safe as a puppy.

"We shall be seeing a lot of each other, Ms. Lewis," Birger said conversationally. "It is Ms. Lewis, is it not?"

"Yes, I never took my ex-husband's name, and the girls here were given a choice, when they were old enough," Darcy murmured, finding it easy to speak to the doctor. His poor assistant was cornered across the room, her daughters eyeing the paperwork he filled out with absolute concentration. "Alice took mine, and Anna kept her father's."

"A wise decision, giving a child the power to make their own decisions," the man nodded in approval, holding up the drawn blood to the light. "Just a few more questions about how you're feeling, and we'll be out of your lovely hair for the day."

She gave him a weariness gauge on a scale of one to ten, the same with constant pain, if her vision was alright, all sorts of generic things like that.

"I am very optimistic, Ms. Lewis," the little man intoned warmly afterwards, patting her gently on a frail shoulder. "No need to worry, we shall return in a few days' time with some results and a game plan!" He waved to the assistant, who was fumbling with a pile of forms and trying not to bump into Alice or Anna as they hovered, asking incessant questions about their mother's condition. "Come on my boy, let us escape the lair of the harpies!"

The younger Lewis and Boothby turned as one, very reminiscent of their mother at their ages as they folded their arms, eyeing the doctor indignantly.

"I mean that with the utmost respect, ladies," the shorter man assured as he winked, dwarfed by his assistant at his side. "I'm sure we will all be very great friends! Now, chins up. Say goodbye, Amund!"

The younger man looked like a deer in headlights, glancing between the three women in the room before sketching a quick half-bow. "Um, enjoy your evening, misses Lewis, and Boothby."

"Please, call us-" Three voices sounded in unison, each woman rattling off their first name. Darcy's chuckles wracked her frame as the guy darted out the door with another nod, the doctor following leisurely.

"Mom, who do you think he liked better?" Anna's voice was teasing, and both girls moved forward to each perch on a side of her bed.

"Girls, I think a better question is who was he more afraid of?" Darcy put an arm around each of her girls, their temples all touching. "When you can scare those who deal with death everyday, I think I did something right." They all laughed, and Darcy could almost forget the IV in her arm and the drab walls.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, guys! Been really trying to update consistently time-and-length-wise, but this may be it for a couple days.
> 
> Picking my way towards an M-rated interaction, but it doesn't feel like they're there yet, so original plan for this chapter is scrapped, apologies, you pervs.

Darcy awoke to the soft pattering of repetitive footsteps and a light clinking noise, retreating and returning to her bedside, then retreating again. She cracked open heavy lids, spotting Alice's slender form pacing, heavy buckles on her knee-high boots jingling with each stride, her mane of raven hair spilling down her back and shimmering as it moved with her.

"What's wrong, honey?" Darcy's voice croaked a bit, and she cleared her throat, sitting up with difficulty. Her daughter was at her side in a second, removing her leather jacket and laying it over a chair, then helping prop Darcy up against several pillows.

"I'm sorry Mom, did I wake you?" Her daughter's hazel eyes, speckled with bright green and accented with simple makeup, peered intently into her mother's face. She could always pierce Darcy's facades, could always tell when something was wrong, with those eyes.

Alice didn't resemble her father at all, Darcy often remarked, assuming some recessive gene in her family was to blame; or thank, really, because these days it was painful enough to see Ian in Anna's features and mannerisms. Alice had a refined and calm air, the head on her shoulders often behaving far beyond its years, and Darcy quickly waved off her eldest daughter's concern. "Not at all, it's hard as hell to get any beauty sleep in a place like this. What brings you here?"

"Just thinking. I wanted to keep you company as long as I could, and…" She shrugged a shoulder elegantly, and Darcy smiled, the movement touching something deep in her memory. She blinked to clear her head, placing her hand over Alice's. "When do you leave?"

At the mention of her impending trip to Iceland as part of a world summit – Alice was an intern with a prominent diplomat – her daughter's eyes dropped, and she fumbled with a loose thread on the hospital bed's thin sheet. "Tomorrow."

Darcy cocked her head, nudging her daughter's chin up again to face her. "Iceland is lovely, and I'm sure you'll blow them all away."Alice chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm only an intern mom, no one's gonna notice me taking notes and nodding until my head falls off when important people talk."

A gleam had appeared in Darcy's eye. "Oh trust me, Alice, the interns get noticed."

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Did you know Greenland is actually the icier one, and Iceland is the greener one?" Darcy's words reached Steve across the common area aboard the Helicarrier, and he smiled, turning a page of the latest Harry Potter book he was plowing through. He must relate to Harry or something, Darcy figured, because he would nod hilariously as he read, brow furrowed in concentration. It was adorable, and she didn't regret introducing him to the series.

"Did you Steve, did you?" Her voice was insistent, and he looked up, brows raising. "What?"

"I've been reading up on that recon mission I'm scheduled for, as part of that new training circuit they're implementing," Darcy explained, bringing her laptop over to the captain. "And look." She pointed enthusiastically at a sunset over Icelandic hills. "I've never been anywhere like this, I'm super stoked. Wanna postcard?"

"You're not there to sightsee, Darcy-" Steve started, but she was already gone, off on another tangent. He just shook his head at her form retreating from the room, eyes returning to Harry's latest battle with Voldemort.

"Intern!" Darcy's voice called as she plowed through a doorway, startling Ian Boothby from the chart he was studying. Scrambling to catch the laminated sheet before it fell from the table he was seated at, he stood uncertainly. "Miss Lewis? What can I-" He was interrupted as a hand waved at him. "Where's Erik?"

"Oh, ah, Doctor Selvig is just in the lab-" He jabbed a thumb at the door behind him marked lab, and Darcy bounded through it without a second thought. She found the aging scientist staring blankly at an also-blank monitor, muttering something about the "convergence".

It was a massive theory of his, that a time was coming where the nine realms of Yggdrasil would line up like dominos, open gateways that were otherwise impossible, throw off gravitational fields, and create other major anomalies. No one quite believed his ramblings, even as well-supported with data as they were, because there'd been no sign of anything like that yet, though he insisted it was imminent.

"Erik, I'm going to Iceland!" She threw her arms around the man she thought of like a strange uncle, and his bewildered expression continued.

"Who…?" He asked weakly, and Darcy forced back the tiny wave of hurt at his lack of recognition of her. He hadn't been the same since the tesseract's influence, some sort of early onset alzheimer's having been activated. But his "sciencing", as Darcy referred to it as, had not suffered, and he was kept on as a valuable asset to Jane's team, as they sought to understand the Bifrost and other intergalactic travel.

"Darcy, it's Darcy, Erik." He smiled thinly. "Darcy, how nice to see you…"

She ignored his confusion, or denied it, quickly continuing, "They're sending me on an assignment, look!" She pointed at the laptop she'd brought with her and set down, showing him the same scenic picture of Iceland. He oohed and aahed appropriately, but she still left the lab feeling severely disheartened.

Ian looked up from his work as she passed him, setting down the gadget he was tinkering with. "M-miss Lewis – Darcy?" She turned from the door, a brow raised in inquiry at the stuttering young British man. He was pretty cute, awkward in a way like a puppy, always stumbling over himself verbally and physically.

"He's…He's getting a little better, you know. The work is keeping him sharper and focused. I, uh, I actually keep him apprised of your work, when we hear news. He's very proud of you, really." The intern blushed and shut his mouth, smiling sheepishly.

Darcy met his smile with a wide one of her own. "Thanks for doing that, and telling me that, intern."

A week later, Darcy had bags packed, had been instructed on parachute use, and was holding an advanced infrared scanner, ready to board a small plane that was as rickety as her grandmother's porch. It was just her and the pilot, heading to Iceland for her to practice reconnaissance on an "enemy" base that was just, in fact, a dummy setup SHIELD had organized. Still, she was expected to take this seriously, and not be caught by the agents set to patrol the area.

Several terrifyingly-filled hours of turbulence and listing to one side later, Darcy was staring with amazement down at green rolling hills, streaked with rivulets of ice and snow. The pilot finally descended, throwing her bag out on the frozen tundra for her, and flipping her a thumps up for good luck. She just stared, as he literally took right off again, leaving her bereft of any other human contact.

She felt like Luke Skywalker in the beginning of The Empire Strikes Back, but she didn't even have a Tauntaun to ride.

Hefting her bag, she raised the scanner in front of her, tugging her thick scarf further around the bottom half of her face and setting off, promptly tripping over a rock. Whoever was watching was probably laughing their ass off.

An hour later, she was making decent progress, having crested a massive hill, beyond which lay the "base" she was surveying. The cold was hardly a problem; she was crazily accustomed to temperatures like this, having been around Loki so much, and this time she had a scarf. Made all the difference.

After ten minutes of staring through binoculars at the structure, she started to approach, skidding her way down the hill as gracefully as she could manage. She probably shouldn't have worn a bright green parka, but it had been all that was left in the wardrobe issuing room when she'd checked in for this assignment. At least she could kind of blend with the grass.

Pausing as she skirted a rough ledge, Darcy squinted, looking at the path ahead of her. The air was sort of wavering, like a mirage in a desert. Did they get those here in the frozen version of deserts? She blinked, raising her thick goggles and peering even closer. The weirdness seemed to stop, and she figured something was in her eye, or lack of sleep was making her wonky.

Then she stepped onto that patch of ground, and found herself falling.

Thirty seconds of alternate whimpering and swearing later, she found herself thrown onto hard, frozen ground, and thought she'd just toppled down the hillside. Opening her eyes, Darcy realized she was very, very wrong.

The wasteland ahead of her was dark, colored all in shades of blue, gray, and black, snow showering the entire scene. Natural structures that resembled icebergs appeared to actually be hills and mountains, jutting out of the frozen, uneven ground sporadically and climbing out of sight into the sky.

"Not in Kansas anymore," she murmured despairingly, with no idea of what had just happened or how she was to get back to where she'd been. When a pain in her leg alerted her to the fact she was still sprawled on her hands and knees on the icy plain, she slowly rose, wincing as she examined a scrape across one kneecap. She slowly moved in a circle on the spot, completely clueless as to what she did next. Her hand involuntarily moved to her chest, seeking her necklace through the layers and layers of protective winter clothing, and rubbing frantically at the pendant.

"If ever this could work like a magical homing beacon or whatever, now would be perfect timing," she muttered, eyes raising to the formations around her.

The wind only seemed to blow louder in response, whipping her hair across her face, and she sighed through a mouthful of strands. She had absolutely no sense of direction in the glacial maelstrom – did they even have north, south, east, or west? – and started to trudge aimlessly across the ice. It was starting to feel impossibly cold, and she sniffled into her scarf, wrapping one more coil of it around her neck.

Did SHIELD have any way to track her? There was a GPS locator in her gear, but could it show her off-world, wherever this was? It sure as hell didn't look or feel like any place on Earth she'd come across during research.

The gravity of her plight hit Darcy an hour later, and tears started falling, fogging up her goggles until she pried them off and tossed them aside. The tears kept coming, and merely began to freeze onto her face even as she scrubbed at her face. Her hiccups were lost in the wind, and she could barely see her hand when she waved it in front of her face, between the weather conditions and her bawling.

It wasn't like her to weep like a baby, but she was quickly realizing this was potentially her death, alone in a frozen mystery land. She didn't even know if anything lived here…The negative implications were endless, and her supplies were not. More importantly, what had happened?

Straining, she rubbed a mitten across her forehead, trying to recall snatches of Erik's rambling, sure she'd heard something about spontaneous portals opening anywhere, letting anything in, out, or between realms. He was right, she realized with a shock, at least partly. That was all she could think of that could explain a random air-puddle throwing her here. She couldn't even warn anyone.

Wrapping a hand across her middle, Darcy sunk to the ground, despair winning this round. Her other hand still fumbled with the necklace against her collarbone, and she blinked furiously, knowing there was no gain in crying more.

She was almost dozing off as the wind dwindled, her head listing to the side and eyes closed, when a crunch of boot on snow sounded nearby. Blinking drowsily, she vaguely remembered being told something about absolutely never falling asleep in extremely cold conditions, and discarded it just as soon. Nothing to do but sleep now, she thought, ignoring the approaching footsteps, audible over the wind that had died down immensely.

"Darcy Lewis?" An incredulous tone reached her ears, the accent crisp and otherwise sounding like it was merely asking the time, and she reluctantly cracked an eye open. It hurt a bit, freezing solid as her eyelashes were, but it was a bit late to wish she hadn't chucked her goggles into the wild earlier.

"Hnnh?" Her incoherent grumble seemed enough to affirm her identity, and the blurry silhouette before her came closer. Green material, black leather, gold zippers, boots. Her other eye opened, and she peered upward suspiciously as a wave of warmth cascaded over her.

The falling snow wasn't even hitting her anymore, she noticed dimly, and…It was totally Loki in front of her. She let loose another eloquent gurgle of surprise, shuffling backwards until she realized she was already flush against the icy wall behind her.

"You're a mirage, huh?" Her cracking lips managed, a hoarse cough escaping after the last syllable. "All of this," she gestured lazily with a mitten-clad hand, "You're a little menacing for a guiding angel, but, what, am I dying?"

"I suspect that is true, though I am no mirage, Darcy Lewis, nor angel." His grave bluntness was strangely reassuring, and she wasn't sure if he was imaginary or if her necklace really did have some Norse hoodoo in it, but she was glad as hell to see a familiar face. Her stance relaxed, legs splaying out across the cold ground that wasn't as cold as it should have been.

Loki was carrying a small decorative box, she noticed suddenly, and as her eyes lit on it, he flicked a wrist nimbly, sending it off to some inter-dimensional storage closet, she assumed. Her eyelids threatened to close again, her hand falling from her necklace as she leaned her head back against the rock.

"Darcy." His voice was much closer now. "Remain with me, if you please." His tone brokered no argument, and Darcy's eyes opened to him actually snapping his fingers at her ear-level.

"Mm, whazzat," she muttered, petulantly flapping a mitten at his hand, which instead caught her mitten and wrist in a vicelike grip. He was cold, really super cold and she didn't need more of that right now, letting loose a whine pitifully close to a puppy's. Her hand waggled in his, weakly trying to pry free, and his other hand cupped her cheek, tilting her chin to meet his gaze. "Stay awake," he said tersely.

"No problem, your hand's like Frosty's." She blinked, already more alert, shaking her head to loosen his grip on her face. He let go of her altogether, sitting back on his haunches as she pulled off her mittens and shaved them in a pocket, rubbing at her eyes.

"How in damnation are you in Jotunheim?" He murmured as if to himself, eyes appraising her form like she was the potential mirage.

"My color looks good on you," he observed offhandedly, taking in the emerald parka she'd pulled on back at base. She snorted, raising a brow at him as she adjusted the scarf around her neck, trying to subtly shove her necklace back down her shirt. "Only one left, don't flatter yourself."

His focus was on her neckline, and she sighed gustily. "Look, my eyes are up-"

"It worked?" He said in wonder, leaning forward in his crouched position to snatch up the chain at her collar. "I sensed…something, more of a bad feeling, but I…My route was unprecedented…"

Darcy suddenly caught sight of a flash of orange down the slope from them, quite a distance away. "What's with the mob with legitimately-flaming torches?" Her shaking hand pointed, and he turned fluidly, letting loose a curse she'd never heard of but totally wanted to learn. "We must move. The Jotuns…"

"Wait, what? Who'd you piss off this time? How'd you get outta that tree-" Darcy cut off with a yelp as Loki swiftly pulled her to her feet, shushing her. "I need you to do everything I ask."

"I don't follow instructions well, just ask the coffee maker I tried to setup that only required plugging in…" A roar had started further down the mountain, and she hazarded a glance, seeing a crowd of large blue Arnold-Schwarzenegger-Smurf-hybrids closer than comfort allowed. They carried torches, and moved very quickly, given that their strides were the length of whole horses.

Loki pulled Darcy away from the edge of the ledge they were peering down from, black hair whipping in the wind that had started up again. "This is a complication."

"I think that's my middle name." Her voice was disheartened, hearing him say that, but he didn't seem to notice, raising his eyes to the mountaintop above them as he explained. "The Jotuns do not have a bifrost as we do on Asgard; they have rather more primitive modes of inter-realm transportation, several natural portals that are difficult to reach even by their standards. And you are perhaps a third of the height of one…"

"Hey, useless mortal girl somehow got herself stuck here, I'm sure she can find a way back," Darcy retorted, wrenching her wrist out of his grasp and backing up. The ground was slightly shaking beneath her, but she figured it was her rage making her shake. "I'll just trip into another trans-planetary portal, how's that?!"

"Tripped?" Loki's face held a comical puzzlement, but his eyes widened in horror at something he saw beyond her. Darcy turned in what felt like slow motion, the shaking growing stronger. Then she was facing the source of the quaking, and screamed. Some sort of beast was charging at her, a snakelike rhino of some sort that was likely carnivorous, snarling and brandishing lengthy fangs as it was.

She stumbled one pace backwards before Loki was on her. An arm wrapped around her waist – man, it was like the safety bar on a roller coaster, all hard and sturdy – while another traced some sort of sigil in the air, and he pulled her to the side as a green light flashed. The monster abruptly stopped, bearing its own expression of confusion as it tossed its hefty jaw side to side, sniffing.

"Shh," Loki breathed into her hair, his other hand wandering to hers, gripping it firmly. His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand in a silently calming gesture, and the intimacy of their position warmed her cheeks. They were fully pressed against each other, and she could only assume he'd cast an illusion, and that full physical contact was needed to shroud her as well. Not that she could complain, this was not uncomfortable in the slightest.

Her thoughts were pulled from their wanders towards the gutter by another bellow from the creature seeking them, which was lumbering back and forth. It could probably smell them, but the lack of seeing must have been confusing as fuck. She kind of felt sorry for the thing, as that was how she felt right now, all discombobulated.

At last, the thing snorted and tossed its head, turning and wandering back to whatever dark cave it had come from, and Loki relaxed his grip, but didn't fully release her.

"Cloaking?" Was all she asked, turning in his grip, and when he smiled thinly and nodded, she wiggled her eyebrows with a knowing smile. "Nailed it. Don't see how anything could miss me in this, otherwise," she continued, plucking at the material of her parka.

"I don't see how anyone or anything could overlook you in general, Darcy Lewis, powerful sorcery notwithstanding." Loki's voice was low, something in there that she didn't want to analyze right now, settling instead to appear as if she hadn't heard, stepping out of his embrace to brush snow off her sleeves.

"And now, we need to run. Are you up for the task?" He asked, glancing along the plateau. The Jotuns hadn't appeared yet, but that interlude had undoubtedly given them time to gain on Loki.

"Hey, I run two miles a day, I can put any hamster on a wheel to shame." Darcy assured him, squeezing his hand lightly. She lost her calm slightly when a rage-choked yell sounded from right beneath them, catching an "Asgardian wretch!" somewhere in the howling.

Ten minutes later, she was definitely feeling the temperature and altitude, affecting her physical capabilities as they did. "Can't…you…teleport…" She wheezed, pausing to lean her hands on her knees as she hunched over to catch her breath.

"I have to know where I'm going, have to have been there before," Loki's breathing was still even, his green eyes stormy with worry in the dusky light. "I have not been to this…particular gateway."

"But you do know it exists." It was a statement, not a question, but Darcy caught Loki biting his lip and flicking a glance up the remaining mountainside. "Right?!" He refused to respond, instead pacing further along the thin ledge they were traversing.

"Oh my god, you're a terrible liar, a terrible liar, how did you get the title of god of lies? Oh wait, lemme guess, you were the only applicant or something…" Anger gave her the energy needed to continue, and also the extra breath to rant with.

Twenty-five minutes later, an interval of her life Darcy would never discuss again, paralyzed with fear as she was for ninety percent of it, they were scrambling over a cliff edge and collapsing at the entrance to a deep cave. He'd had her scale the side of a mountain. With a knife.

"Rest assured if this happens again, I could now transport myself right here," Loki said conversationally, brushing ice sleeves, long leather coat flapping in the strong wind. He looked pretty dashing, and she had to look away, tentatively wandering towards the cave mouth.

"Best not to wander straight in, Darcy," Loki was suddenly right behind her, moving to stand at her side and guide her forward with a hand at her back. He conjured a small light that illuminated the creepy space, revealing icy stalactites and stalagmites that looked ready to fall on her or crumble into her path at any moment.

She was glad for his guiding hand, and when she stumbled, latched onto his forearm with her own hand, actively deciding not to release it for the duration of the trek. He explained along the way that they'd have to go through together, that his magic would hopefully be able to "steer" them towards a correct realm.

At last they seemed to reach the back of the cave, where a section of icy wall glimmered subtly.

"I'd say let's pray this works, but there's already a god present," Darcy said, staring uncertainly at the space.

A noise sounded from the front of the cave, and feet thundered towards them.

"A kiss instead then, for good luck's sake," Loki was grinning, a gleam in his eyes she couldn't label before he was pulling her towards him, a hand latched into her curls and another splayed across her back.

Loki was cold and icy-hot at the same time, warming instantly at her touch. His lips crushed against hers with abandon, and she forgot all about the looming threat as they moved feverishly against one another. His hand angled her head further back, his tongue skating across her plush lower lip. Her lips parted, his notorious silver tongue slipping past, and he was all she could taste, smell, feel. All too soon, he was pulling back, color actually risen in his alabaster cheeks, and panting slightly.

He pressed another kiss to her forehead, almost apologetically, and Darcy risked a look back at their pursuers, who had fully surrounded them in a wide semi-circle, then up at Loki again. He just took her hand, pushing her gently towards the portal and guiding her to step in like some gentleman in a Jane Austen novel, his grip warm and steadying.

Darcy glanced back suspiciously, lips forming a question when he pressed a finger against her lips. "Change of plans." Producing the small box from earlier, he pushed it into her other hand. "This will guide any non-Jotun through their portals, just picture your destination. I don't need it as much as you, but I expect it back. Goodbye, Darcy Lewis. Consider one of my debts paid in full." With that, he lightly shoved her in via his grasp on her wrist, and Darcy's shriek of outrage was cut off by the portal.

Half a minute later, she was sprawled in an undignified heap in some sort of grassy field bisected by a gravel lane. It looked to be midday, there was a visible sun, and…There was a sign, hammered into the ground at the lane edge. She peered at it, recognizing the alphabet but not the language. Romanian? Reaching for her pocket, she realized she was still holding the rubik's cube-sized chest Loki had given her.

"That's sooo getting confiscated," she said sadly, shaking her head as she raised a SHIELD cellphone to her ear.


	6. Chapter 6

The clack of something at her bedside roused Darcy, who mumbled incoherently, turning her head on her pillow to see who was there. Ian, replacing a framed family photo of them from some seventeen years ago, his brow furrowed in thought.

She liked that picture; Ian was seated, a toddler Anna on his lap, their bushy chocolate hair matching perfectly. An already-willowy six year-old Alice was standing beside Ian, her hand on his shoulder, with Darcy at her back, their long hair curled in similar ringlets. They were all smiling, but Darcy thought she could detect some of her malcontent from those days in her own smile, and if she could, Ian probably could.

"What time is it?" Darcy asked as she exhaled heavily, stretching cautiously.

"Sorry," Ian muttered, jamming his hands in his pockets and glancing at her monitors. "About eight at night, just thought I'd see how you were getting on. Saw Alice off at the airport earlier."

"Well, I'm still here," Darcy murmured, sitting more upright and gesturing weakly at the bed she had occupied for several weeks. "Can't wait to hear Alice's stories. She's gone, what, a week?" Her ex-husband thought for a second, and nodded. "So where's Anna?"

"She has a test tomorrow morning, so she's back at her dorm, cramming furiously with a stack of flashcards and about a bucketful of coffee brewing." Ian smiled, tucking a blanket further around Darcy's thigh. She sighed in contentment, wiggling her shoulders as she burrowed into her pillow. "Well, we did okay, didn't we? The caffeine addiction is a little worrisome, but..." Darcy chuckled lowly. "Thanks for coming by, Ian."

"Nowhere else I'd rather be, love." His warm hand sought her chilled one, grasping it firmly and chafing at it with his other hand to warm it. "Do you need anything?"

"Probably just more sleep…" Darcy's voice trailed off suddenly.

Something wasn't right. She felt really dizzy, even immobile as she was, and was dimly aware of a beeping noise, and Ian's voice raising, before her vision went dark.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was midwinter, a particularly cold night, but it didn't matter, so long as she kept running. Darcy Lewis was utterly terrible at keeping up routines, and only the looming threat of bumping up a jeans size kept her at these late-night runs through the park. Her SHIELD-patented glow-in-the-dark sneakers were bright against the dark pavement they pounded against, the air crisp and refreshing as she rounded a corner on the trail. She preferred the less-walked paths, knowing she could protect herself if need be, and she really, really hated the ogling her chest received when she went running.

Her iPod was blaring the latest techno mixes straight into her ears, rendering her deaf to even her own footfalls and huffs of breath. The first sign anything was off came when she passed a small sign promoting responsible trash disposal. As she came nearly level with it, something glinting far behind her caused a flash of reflection on the neon material, and she paused, darting a curious look behind her.

Darcy saw nothing, and shrugged a shoulder, resuming her pace. Ground-level miniature lanterns lit this path at night, and she followed their guidance to a fork in the trail. One led to the parking lot, the other rounded about a little further, for a longer run. She chose the latter, since she'd binged on whiskey with the girls from SHIELD last night – who'd have thought it had so many calories? – and bounded onto the right fork of the pavement.

Five minutes later, she had paused her music, scrolling through a playlist as she slowed her pace to concentrate on the screen, and a branch snapped behind her. It sounded like a hefty branch, and she whirled on the spot, eyes narrowing as she sought what made the noise.

Everything went still, almost completely silent, which was creepy enough in itself – and then she was being charged. Two gargantuan figures burst out of some shrubbery about one hundred feet down the path, heading straight for her with an angry grunt apiece, one pointing at her.

Darcy took off, realizing she was weaponless and at an extreme disadvantage sense-wise in the dark, and these guys definitely seemed to be after her. Her lungs burning, she hit a straight stretch of path, gaining what speed she could and risking a glance back. She might have been mistaken, but a lone streetlamp the beings passed illuminated them briefly, and they looked blue.

"Oh hell no," Darcy let out breathlessly, cataloging what she had with her. An iPod, headphones…Her phone, shoved in her cleavage…And what she was wearing. Not a terribly strong arsenal against two full-grown frost giants, even if the warmer-than-subzero-temperatures seemed to be slowing them down.

Tugging at the zipper on her hoodie, she pulled it to nearly her neck, wrenching in another breath as she returned her eyes to the path ahead, which curved.

A slash of green light flared in the darkness ahead, and she spared herself the waste of breath, hastily rolling her eyes instead. She had some sort of alien homing beacon in her blood, or something, clearly. Lovely. A familiar figure peeled itself from the darkness of the tree line ahead, and the glint of his armor encouraged her.

"What did you do this time?! Run, you idiot!" She screeched, fully passing Loki as he stepped fully onto the path. He looked to have nodded when she passed him, but made no other movement than to face the oncoming frost giants.

Twenty strides later, Darcy bit her lip, knowing whatever was about to happen would be soaked in regret, and pivoted, hands bracing themselves on her bent knees as she caught her breath.

Maybe the whiskey was still in her system? She was really getting sick of the general weirdness that followed her around, weirdness of an extremely-eerily-coincidental variety.

Straightening, she blinked into the darkness, spotting the frost giants lurching to a stop a dozen feet from Loki, who stood in helmeted and armored glory in the middle of her daily running path.

"Nothing to see here, just another interplanetary scuffle. Typical New York," she muttered, glad as hell that it was night, and equally dismayed it was dark. No citizens around to supply collateral damage, but she couldn't see a thing. Her musings were broken by one of the frost giants, leaning forward and speaking with a voice that sounded like shards of ice scraping against one another.

"The witch. Give her to us, she has it."

"Have a care how you address her, Jotun." Loki's snarl echoed in the darkness, managing to make the word Jotun sound like something revolting. "She is under my oath of protection, and she has nothing that would concern you, unless you have developed a craving for, what is it, Dubstep? Halt pursuit of this mortal and return through the bifrost crevice you crawled through, or you will regret it."

His defensive tone seemed to strike a chord in the giants, who shared a look, then grinned simultaneously. "The trickster has affections after all…? Return the aurora cube, and you may keep your mortal plaything, intact."

A frigid arm like a steel bar came around Darcy's midsection, and she managed a quick shriek before her mouth was covered. She was lifted off her feet, her struggles completely futile in the face of the third frost giant's grip that trapped her. Its arms were completely freezing, her cheeks burning with the contact. Loki turned, and she saw fury in his emerald eyes. He moved with deliberate slowness towards the giant that held her like a doll, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"You have my word, you will have the cube back in but a moment. Release the girl to me, first."

"No. The aurora cube, Loki of Asgard, and now." The Jotun who had spoken earlier snapped, it and its comrade following and flanking Loki.

"Oh, this is about that stupid box that got me home, isn't it?" Darcy tried to call irritably, but half of the words came out muffled, desperate her writhing to get her mouth uncovered. Loki seemed to understand her, bowing his head in affirmation of her statement. "I am sorry to bring trouble upon you, Miss Lewis."

"Miss Lewis? Oh please, we are so beyond last names-" Darcy cut off with a frantic squeak as the frost giant squeezed her, almost hard enough to break a rib, and Loki started to lunge forward, just stopping himself. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and he turned, speaking in clipped tones to the sole frost giant apparently capable of speech.

"Let. Her. Go. She knows not what our quarrel is," He said, a hint of desperation tinting his words.

"Ah, but she is clearly important enough to bequeath a Jotun relic to, isn't she, half-breed?" The hulking figure replied, and Loki's resulting glare looked like it was an inch from actual murder. The Jotun made a sharp gesture, and Darcy's captor again tightened his grip.

She swore she felt something snap, and she drew in a ragged breath, resisting a wince and determined not to give a Damsel in Distress Show. Darcy was acutely aware of how easily she could be snapped like a twig any second, though, and that awareness made it a little tough to act cool as a cucumber as she'd hoped to. Loki looked straight at her when the giant clenched its arms again – maybe he had dog hearing, or something – and his jaw set.

Drawing an elaborate design in the air before him, Loki muttered a few words in a strange language. All of the ground-level lanterns in the park around them flared, their light brightening to several times what it had been a moment before, and the cube in question appeared in Loki's hand.

Funny, because she'd thought it was a in a lockbox, sealed behind a gate, within a vault, in a backroom of her bank, several blocks away, patrolled by armed guards day and night.

"An even trade. The girl, for this." Loki's voice was quite, unnaturally calm as he proffered the small, ornate box to the speaker frost giant, who cocked its head, eyeing Loki with blatant distrust.

"We must evaluate its condition." It ground out, clearly suspecting an illusion.

"As I must evaluate hers," Loki retorted smoothly, gaze sweeping to Darcy and back again.

The giant debated in silence for a few moments, apparently wary of charging Loki and strong-arming the thing from him. Its silent partner's posture was slumping even as it stood, like it was a flower wilting. Or an icicle, melting. Darcy noted that with interest.

At last, the blue brute nodded curtly at the giant holding her, and she was dropped unceremoniously the few feet she had been held above the ground, with a pained cry. Loki was at her side in a second, or…more around her, as he promptly curled himself protectively about her body, an arm raised as he muttered a spell.

A hand across her ribs, she clung to him with the other, pressed against his leather armor. His long coat wrapped around her, and she inhaled deeply of his crisp, rainy scent, calming infinitely. She almost missed the massive blast of fire that sprung from his palm, racing to engulf the three frost giants in the path's clearing. They had just reached the small box and were crowded around it, easily caught in the magical inferno. Their roars and screams were muted by the crackling of the crafted flames, which spiraled around the Jotun in such a thick funnel that they were soon hidden from view.

A moment later, the flames ceased abruptly, and only a sprinkling of dust remained to fall to the ground in the darkness, the box clinking onto the pavement a second later. Darcy whimpered involuntarily, and Loki's arms were instantly around her, pulling her to her feet and scouring her for damage.

"I'm so sorry…I'm sorry…" He was muttering at her as he pawed at her hoodie, and she finally had to press a shaking hand to his chest to halt his frantic movements, shaking her head.

"I'm fine," she managed when she'd regained her breath. "Did you just…charbroil…" She didn't finish the thought, and Loki just nodded, eyes downcast. With a flip of one hand, the box was flying back to rest in his palm. She eyed it with distaste, and he just as quickly sent it away to wherever it was he banished stuff he wasn't using.

"You couldn't have done that before? You sent me home with the equivalent of a bad-guy magnet? With a GPS for frost giants?" Her voice was weak, and pitiful to her own ears.

"I gravely underestimated the technology of Jotunheim, and their sensitivity to their own artifacts," Loki murmured by way of explanation, a hand moving to her face and stroking her hair back from her temple, skimming down to her jawline. She closed her eyes, knowing that was the only information she'd get from him, abandoning any line of inquiry and swallowing thickly at the sensation of his cool hand cupping her cheek. She was just glad he was here, and that she wasn't snapped completely in half.

Her hand was still crossed across her midsection, and she opened her eyes at a tugging sensation, spotting him moving her arm to wave his own hand along her ribs. A pleasant chill replaced the burning in her ribs, and she sighed in relief, posture easing.

"I assume you are finished with whatever task requires this outfit?" Loki gestured at her workout clothes, and Darcy pursed her lips, nodding. "Allow me, then." His arms came around her again, tucking her against him within the fold of his coat, and a moment and one bout of mild nausea later, they were in her living room again.

"Guess it's a good thing I haven't moved," Darcy said conversationally, stepping back from his embrace and running a hand through her hair. "Ew, workout sweat and fear sweat. Shower time."

She flicked a glance at Loki in time to see an amused smile on his lips. "Darcy Lewis, afraid? I'd never believe it." His tone was light, but his gaze was still darkened with worry. For her?

"Right, if I'm not afraid of you, I'm not sure what else is left." Her own tone was teasing, and she aimed a playful punch at his armored shoulder as she slouched past, heading for the shower. "Make yourself at home, ya know, drink half my limited edition scotch again, all that jazz!" She didn't catch his reply, feigning nonchalance as she made a beeline for the shower, but she was strongly hoping he would stay.

When she emerged twenty blissful moments later, rubbing a towel absently at her soaked mane, she stopped short in the doorway to her living room, smiling widely. Her mischief god had lingered after all, and was currently on her couch, booted feet propped on the coffee table. He'd removed or banished his armor, whatever it was he did, and had on a forest green dress shirt paired with pleasingly-tight black slacks. His hair, growing long again, was actually tied back, á la Thor, and she thought the look was pretty sexy, in a Viking-pirate-hybrid fashion.

She'd changed into short tartan pajama shorts after her shower, topped with a thin black cami, and moved further into the room. Flopping beside him on the couch, she continued her hair ministrations, noting with a sly pleasure that his gaze was definitely on her bared legs, not on the discovery channel special on Stonehenge.

"So, thanks for back there, and barbecuing my would-be murderers," she offered bluntly, wincing internally when he appeared to flinch at the last term.

"I am supposed to be repaying your acts of kindness to me, not leading you straight into the lions' den." He sighed, propping an elbow on the couch's armrest and scrubbing his hand across his face.

"Well, you're putting my training to the test, certainly," she consoled, reaching out a hand and rubbing at his shoulder, acting on a dare with herself. He stiffened at the contact, then relaxed into her touch as she kept talking, keeping her tone casual. "You really don't owe me anymore, you saved me from becoming a popsicle in Jotunheim, and, well, this now."

"Perhaps I am finding reasons for our paths to cross." His face slowly turned to hers, green irises gleaming with mischief. She'd never been so glad to see that expression; she'd had enough of grave Loki.

"Ooh, contrived destiny, how very Loki of you," she replied lightly, though her heart had jumped at his words.

"I do my best to live up to the legends, with a few exceptions." His tone was downright playful, and as she went to pull her hand from his shoulder, he snatched it up, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm that sent a shiver down her back and straight into her bones. His focus was on her the entire time, and she felt heat rush to her cheeks, her other hand clenching involuntarily.

Fuck it, she thought. She'd almost been snapped like a ruler held by an enraged nun, and she was going to seize the moment from now on.

"The pressure must be immense." She kept her tone low, shifting closer until she was nearly in his lap, her eyes raking across his face and back to his hair. "I love the Shakespeare look, by the way." His puzzlement was only momentary, before he grinned rakishly. "I used to make trips to Midgard fairly often several centuries ago, to see the man's plays."

"Let me guess, Macbeth? Othello?" She moved closer as she spoke, until her lips were nearly brushing his ear. She felt him shiver slightly, and smiled triumphantly. Suddenly sitting back, she adopted a pensive expression. "I haven't got any legends to live up to."

"Oh, trust me, I'm sure there are legends about Darcy Lewis. And if not, there will be," Loki said, just before he closed the distance between them, lips catching hers almost bruisingly. She responded fervently, moving fully into his lap without breaking the kiss, one arm clutching at his shoulder, the other wrapping around the nape of his neck.

She might have let out a very, very quiet mew, and he may have growled in kind, but in another moment they were horizontal on the couch, Loki's weight pressing her into the cushions. It wasn't uncomfortable, more…reassuring, she thought dazedly, as his lips left hers, roving across her cheek and down to her pulse point. She drew a ragged breath as his attention lingered there for a moment, her hand working its way into his hair to free it from its bindings.

She raked her fingers through the shining ebony strands, tugging sporadically, eliciting a groan from the god ravaging her neck. Her other hand wandered to his shirt collar, tugging at the buttons concealing him from her view. That got his attention, and he paused, a hand moving to grab hers.

"Are you…sure?" He whispered unsteadily, and she nodded with absolute certainty, leaning up to press another kiss to his lips, fist clenching in his hair.

Finally, the buttons on his shirt sprung loose, and it was flung to the floor immediately. Her cami somehow joined it a moment later, and Darcy was breathing like she'd run a marathon. His fingers were doing deliciously mischievous things, worshipping her curves with their touch, like she was some sort of altar, or the most precious thing he'd ever touched.

One hand moved to skim down her ribs, his thumb tracing circles as it went, and she shifted her hips impatiently, the contact driving her crazy. The same hand abruptly latched onto her lower waist, stilling her hips, and he huffed a laugh against her lips.

"Devil," she muttered indignantly as his mouth wandered to other side of her neck. "Not quite," was his response, breathed against the delicate skin behind her ear, and she shivered at another jolt of pleasure, deciding to explore his own offerings.

Her hand retreated from his hair, moving to join the other in exploration of his shoulders. Man, was she a sucker for shoulder breadth, and he was a prime specimen. They were muscled, taut with keeping his weight off of her, and he shuddered himself as she raked twin sets of nails across his upper back. He arched slightly off her at the contact, growling out her name.

She answered with a breathy, incoherent moan, as his mouth roved across her chest in retaliation, purposefully tracing along the edge of her bra. One of his hands reached beneath her to lift her to him, his tongue laving against the material, and Loki's name escaped her lips in a tone she'd never heard herself use.

Her legs shifted beneath his weight again, her hips arching up against him, and she realized her shorts had come off at some point, leaving her in black lace boyshorts. Trailing her hands down his back, hoping she left some sort of mark against the flawless alabaster skin, she moved her fingers to the waistband of his slacks. Darcy started yanking petulantly at the fastenings, knowing full well he could zap them off if he so chose, but he just laughed again, his mouth flush against one now-bared breast. His cool breath tingled against her hot skin, and she started to wonder if she had an actual fever but - wow, he was good.

With a flourish of his teeth and some small burst of magic, her bra was completely cast aside, and his slacks were finally out of the way, blindly tossed off the couch. He appeared to prefer some sort of silk boxer briefs, which was perfectly fine with her, the material giving way easily as she cupped him in one hand. He bucked against her, biting down hard against one shoulder, and she knew she was gonna have to have a story tomorrow. But she went with the moment, sliding the boxers from him and allowing herself one completely smug moment at the feeling of what was hers.

His fingers were scrabbling almost desperately at her hip as he gasped against her collarbone, nipping at the skin there, and with a flick of a finger, her boyshorts were gone too. His mouth returned to hers, pressing a languorous kiss to her lips as his hand roamed down her thigh, her legs parting in anticipation. She could feel his smile against her jaw when his fingers found her slickness, and she roughly whispered his name again, in supplication.

He toyed with her a moment, fingers withdrawing and dragging across to her other thigh and up to her abdomen again. Covering her form more thoroughly with his own, he decided to answer her pleas, fitting his body to hers, thrusting in with a groan that accompanied her name.

Their movements were alternately frenzied and unhurried, each knowing they couldn't nurture their shared affections, but wanting to savor this night all the same. When both were finally sated, they somehow stumbled their way to her bedroom, Loki lacking all usual grace, and Darcy trying not to laugh tiredly. At last, they were under the expensive sheets she'd maliciously charged to a SHIELD credit card, and Loki pulled her to him, shaping his form to hers. She hadn't pegged him as one who would stick around, but she would absolutely not complain.

Darcy was the moth to Loki's flame and she knew it, yet she couldn't help but allow herself to burn.

He was the sower of chaos that kept the world on its feet, the necessary evil that kept sword blades sharpened at ready, the storm that encouraged appreciation of the sunshine.

And she was just Darcy, but she was his, at least for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

A wrenching feeling tore through her chest, bringing consciousness with it, and Darcy awoke to a searing coldness pressed to her sternum. Blinking furiously, her head lolled on the pillow, ears catching a beeping noise that was steadily slowing, and the frigidity retreated.

The first thing she saw was Birger's assistant – Amund, was that his name? She'd have to start calling him Almond – retreating from her bedside, his blue eyes wide and staring at his hands. They seemed shaky, like he'd just pulled them back from a hot stovetop or something. Then the sight of Ian replaced him, eyes frantic with worry, his hair sticking up comically where he'd probably run his hands through it. "Darcy!"

"What…happened…" Her tongue was a dead weight in her mouth, making it difficult to speak, and Ian shakily poured a cup of water from her bedside pitcher, gently tilting her head up so she could manage a couple sips. "You had me scared, that's what."

Birger's soothing tones took over, and she finally spotted him writing on a clipboard at the end of her bed. "Nothing to worry about my dear, you simply fainted from an imbalance of nutrition, what with this tube giving you every meal-" He gestured a pen at the IV feeding into her arm "-but rest assured, chocolate pudding and pastrami sandwiches will be the routine as often as I can manage!"

Darcy loved pastrami sandwiches with a fiery passion, Ian must have made the suggestion. But the last time she'd held down anything substantial had been weeks ago. Still, she managed a warm smile for the rotund man with the chipper voice, her hand moving to fumble with the golden necklace at the collar of her hospital gown. She missed the alarmed look Birger shot at his assistant, the young man still pale as a ghost and now staring blankly at her heart monitor lines.

"Do you want anything from downstairs?" Her ex-husband asked, stroking her other arm where it lay on the bedcovers.

"I'm afraid we are about to lightly sedate her, Mr. Boothby," Birger smoothly interjected. "But perhaps the largest hot tea they have available, for yourself? You've had a most pressing hour." Nodding gratefully at the doctor's suggestion, Ian pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and Darcy nodded back once, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply as he left the room.

"That's all it was, really? I was so dizzy, and my chest felt…" She muttered, pressing the heel of a hand to her forehead.

"Of course, lovely Ms. Lewis, we have got the situation absolutely under control. Now, about the test results we have received – things look good! Your antibody counts are up, the anemia signs are decreasing by the day, and your weight is remaining steady." He beamed at her as he opened one of his cases, retrieving a syringe and selecting a fluid to fill it with.

Amund had moved to the opposite side of the room, glancing distractedly towards the curtained window as if contemplating escape through it. Darcy's attention was more on the mute young man than her current prognosis, nodding distractedly at Birger before speaking to his apprentice. Her voice drew Amund's focus back to her, but he quickly averted eye contact, blue gaze moving to rest on her covers as she spoke. "Can I call you Almond?"

There was a strange glint in the man's eye, and he blinked rapidly, knuckling at the corner of his eye before answering, his tone hesitant and soft. "Uh…Certainly, Ms. Lewis."

"Please, call me Darcy, uggh." She flopped her hands dramatically, halting the movement of one as Birger moved to administer a shot of something, brows strangely furrowed. "And Birger, you'd tell me if anything more were amiss, right? You'd speak to me man-to-man, except, well, I'm not a man but…You know?"

"Yes, yes of course, my dear. Your peace of mind and full disclosure are the bottom line of my contract!" Birger said as he cracked a massive grin, "And by the way, Miss Anna is on her way, I believe, Almond," he reminded, switching his focus to his helper, fumbling with a medical bag across the room. "Would you mind popping down to the lobby and escorting her up?" The assistant nodded mutely and nearly dashed from the room.

"Does he always act so flighty? I thought we'd be friends by now!" Darcy's tone was disappointed as she watched the door swing shut, and Birged gently patted her arm. "He has never been so, ah, involved in a case of this – well, I cannot use any word other than gravity, apologies – and he adjusts better each day. I hope he does not make you uncomfortable?"

"Oh no, not at all, he's like a little schoolboy trying to do everything right, it's pretty adorable," Darcy said, the medicine taking effect. "He's pretty, really. And Darcy's cougar claws emerrrrgeee…" Birger just smiled good-humoredly until she dozed off, shooting a glance at his ornate pocketwatch before starting to pack up his things, hoping to speak to Anna quickly before he left.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Darcy had always had more disappointing dreams than nice ones, and sighed resignedly when this particular one took her to the morning after she had been with Loki.

It was like a bad case of déjà vu, feeling herself waking up feeling more content than she had in months, despite the alarm blaring beside her, telling her it was six am. She hit snooze before stretching out an arm searchingly, not surprised in the slightest when she only encountered empty sheets on the other side of the bed. She huffed a resigned sigh and sunk back under the covers. Turning slightly on her side, her cheek encountered the twin to her own pillow, a deep inhale of the scents there proving that she hadn't imagined it, that Loki had been there after all, for round one...and two...She smiled, burrowing her face into the material until her snoozing alarm screeched another wake-up call.

Padding through her apartment after throwing on a thin robe, she noted all his armor and clothes were gone, still mildly convincing that he'd never been there.

Spotting a glint underneath her couch, Darcy crouched before it, brows furrowed as she reached an inquisitive hand where she'd seen it. Her hand emerged successful, one of Loki's armor cuffs gripped tightly in her fist. So his clothes-summoning-skills weren't all that up to par. She wondered briefly how he hadn't noticed it was missing, and if he'd come back to reclaim it...Or would it poof into nothingness randomly?

Turning it over in her hands, she figured out the fastenings, curiously latching the piece onto her own, slimmer forearm. It looked ridiculously loose, but still gave her a badass feeling for all of a minute, before dismay started to creep in. Looking up and around her silent apartment, she sighed heavily, making her way into the kitchen to brew coffee, keeping the cuff on the entire time.

After a shower, she stared at her towel-wrapped body in the bathroom mirror, pursing her lips as a finger tapped absently at her necklace. Intergalactic pregnancies, were those a thing? She shouldn't have seized the moment quite so rashly, upon reflection, but…There were always doctor visits, blegh. A quick glance at her calendar and a few hasty calculations assured her that it was highly unlikely she was – compromised – and she wandered into her walk-in closet to choose an outfit for the day without giving the matter another thought.

After work that day, she bought the largest bottle of Scotch she could find, as you do. She may have had one of the more spectacular one-night stands of anyone she knew, or anyone ever, disregarding alternate realms, but she still felt that cheap, used feeling at him leaving without a goodbye.

She lugged the weighted paper bag home, debating having Jane come over, and planning to call in a sick day at SHIELD tomorrow. Her excuse would be something along the lines of "I'm drowning in vomit, self-pity, and did I mention vomit?" with a few dry heaves thrown in for good measure. It was kind of funny, a super-secret government organization acknowledging a simple, weak thing like sick days, but hey, seventy percent of their staff were only mere mortals, after all. And she probably would be throwing her guts up, one way or another, by five am, so what was one white lie to an organization that told the truth about as often as CNN?

In all she currently felt, regret itself was actually not included. She knew she didn't regret a minute of it, despair as she might of the consequences. It was a confusing concept.

She'd drink herself into oblivion tonight, resignedly, but couldn't hold a grudge at his leaving. After all, it was foolhardy to try to box in the wind or steer it, and she shouldn't have ever believed she could.

Several weeks later, it was Darcy's birthday. Turning a quarter-of-a-century old had never felt quite so paradoxical; she knew it was only a drop in the ocean to certain beings, but she felt pretty aged, hunched over the bar in a classy club and watching tittering twenty-one year-olds take shots.

She'd come out slightly hesitantly at the insistence of coworkers, every female maintaining that if anyone could get the insanely handsome, but reserved, Steve Rogers to come out to a bar and take shots, it would be her. Not that she was as much fun lately. Too much mope in her step and not enough Darcy flair.

The bar crowd tonight was probably fifty percent SHIELD employees, all struggling to keep secrets secret, against the insistence of alcohol. Half the Avengers had attended since Steve was, dressing demurely in most cases to avoid recognition – except Tony Stark, whose crimson pinstriped suit had earned him a convoy of fangirls following his every move. Barton was here somewhere too, and Romanoff, but they were masters of concealment and probably just wanted the booze on SHIELD's dime. Darcy knew she should feel special at the various guests at her party, but she simply felt hollow.

Even Steve was valiantly taking shots, ineffective as they were; Darcy smiled thinly at the thought that he was at least using SHIELD's money as vindictively as she herself often did. Bruce Banner had skipped out after the first hour, promising a gift would be on Darcy's desk on Monday, giving her an extremely awkward pat on the shoulder and booking it out a side door. She'd almost cried, but from laughter or how touching his actions were, she wasn't sure.

Chugging the grasshopper she'd ordered not four minutes ago, Darcy glanced at her watch, not quite pleased that she could still read the face of it. Irritably, she tugged at the hem of her party dress, which unfortunately pulled the damn neckline south as well, so she left off her efforts with an indignant huff. The dress was a strapless gold satin creation that, despite her demands of the expert tailor, had ended up a little too short to satisfy her own sense of decency. It was either her boobs or her legs on show tonight, and she'd prefer the leg stares, as a change of pace.

Loki was driving her to alcoholism, she realized, in the midst of tossing back the dregs of her drink, before shrugging and flagging the bartender for another. Her racing thoughts incessantly turned to the corner of her mind that harbored all sorts of mushy guck, most of it in Loki colors. She hated it, being a clingy cliché, so the mental cloud-cover of booze was appreciated.

At least he hadn't left her pregnant, and she could still drown her sorrows adequately.

"Happy birthday, Darcy," a British accent sounded from her left, and Darcy wobbled on her bar-stool, eyes warily flicking in that direction. She knew better than to trust voices with a fancy pronunciation of her name, turning the "ar" to "aw". But she only spotted Ian the intern, who usually favored sweater vests and thick cardigans, now dressed in a nice white dress shirt over dark jeans, and proffering a small box in her direction.

Erik had resigned his position several weeks ago, citing he simply couldn't keep the pace expected of him, and Ian had been reassigned to help Darcy with her old duties, even as she kept up her agent training.

He was cute. Super duper cute, and she simply couldn't even with his cuteness right now. "The last time someone handed me a box, it didn't go so well," she slurred resentfully, noting with a dim satisfaction that the grasshopper colony she had imbibed was finally doing its job.

"Sorry, what? This is for you!" Ian smiled feebly, setting it before her on the bar. After a moment's hesitation, she took a moment to coordinate the movements required to pick up the box, before undoing the fancy ribbon and finally cracking it open.

Inside was a silver necklace, the pendant inscribed with a tiny design in the shape of a pair of glasses. It was just the kind of hipster thing she'd wear, and she liked it on sight. "Awww, intern! You shouldn't have!" She looked up at the bartender, hollering at the girl to please bring Darcy and Darcy's Intern a shot of something. Turning back to Ian, she stared into the box for a moment, her other hand wandering to the necklace she already wore.

"Would you like to try it on?" He asked, sidling closer to be heard over the music, which had grown louder at the takeover of the soundstage by a new DJ for the night.

Darcy bit her lip, torn. "I, uh…" Fuck it, said the grasshoppers. "Sure!" She promptly pulled her wave of chocolate curls over one shoulder, swiveling to face her back to Ian. His hands touched her neck, provoking a small shiver, and he apologized quietly. After a moment, he draped her emerald necklace across her cupped hand, and turned her around, appraising the look, his cheeks reddening. "Lovely!"

She managed a weak smile, glad when the bartender interrupted by pounding two shot glasses onto the counter. "This one's on the house, birthday girl!" Darcy's face split into a wider grin and she thanked the bartender with a cocky salute, grabbing her shot with her free hand as she set the box on the counter, coiling her golden necklace into it. It seemed to mock her, and she shut the lid over it hastily.

"Shots shots shots!" She cried, waving over the other Avengers, who each ordered their own preferred poison.

"To meeee," Darcy cried, swinging the liquor into her mouth with gusto, and everyone else did the same. Tony Stark immediately ordered another round, and her liver cringed at the thought, her brain assenting heartily.

Ten minutes later, Darcy knew she was sloppy drunk. In public, and probably giving the Avengers a bad name. In the guise of heading to the ladies' room, she slipped off her barstool, wobbling unsteadily towards a door leading to a patio, hoping they lost sight of her in the dancing crowd.

Once outside, she pressed her back to the closed door, relieved it was a very cold night and no one else had partaken of the fresh air. Pulling frantically at the new necklace around her neck, she nearly snapped the chain in her haste to have it off, for some inexplicable reason. She'd tell Ian she was afraid to lose it while she was hammered.

She would never know how she quite managed the motor skills required to undo the delicate fastening, but she got it off, quickly uncapping the small box she'd brought with her and pulling out her familiar golden necklace. It seemed to readily wrap around her throat, clasping with no difficulty at all, and she sighed in relief at the comforting feel of it against her chest.

Her hearing was failing under intense inebriation, she decided a few moments later, when she stumbled across the balcony towards the railing, and an arm caught hers to steady her. She hadn't heard anyone else come out.

"Lemme go, who-" she managed, dazedly turning and looking up into a very familiar pair of green eyes. "You." She spoke the single syllable with as much resentment and irritation as she could manage while drunk off her ass, trying and failing to break free of his grip. "We've gotta ssstop this," she ground out, turning straight back to the view from the balcony to steady her wavering vision.

Loki's grip skated up from her wrist to her forearm, to her bicep, to her shoulder, before dropping to his side. "You should be more aware of your surroundings." She shivered at the contact, leaning heavily forward on the metal railing and fuzzily hoping no one came looking for her.

"Who exactly would come after me?" She questioned, concentrating immensely on speaking clearly. "I haven't been gifted with any more highly sought-after Jotun relics, I don't make it a habit…"

He shifted uneasily behind her, and she could see him bowing his head in her mind's eye, choosing his words carefully, the predictable, dignified jerk who she cared so damn much for. "There are…always those who would use any weakness against me. And a drunk woman is a target for nearly anyone."

The words were very quiet, spoken from above and behind her left shoulder, and her head cocked to the side, but she was silent. She sensed him moving closer, his presence a warm solidity at her back, just barely grazing her but enough to combat the dropping temperature.

When she finally spoke, the rising breeze almost carried her words away, her fingers moving in counting gestures. "You're still public enemy number one, yaknow. Or, well, maybe two or three, since you went off the grid…" She shoved wayward curls out of her face, wishing she had a hair band, but the fresh air was rapidly sobering her. "Anyways, this is…public, and if any of the two of us are target for attack, it's you, big guy. The entire team of Avengers are here minus Thor, why the risk?"

"Happy birthday, Darcy Lewis." He paused, and she felt a hand swipe curls back from her face. "I merely wanted to wish you such, and bestow a small token, in thanks for the night you gifted me with."

Her shoulders perked up from their slump, a hand smoothing her dress as she absorbed his words, feeling slightly breathless. Part of her wondered if that statement implied she was some sort of whore for hire, but that was the bitter aisle of her mind, quickly shushed. He both remembered and apparently appreciated taking her to bed, and that's all a mortal girl could ask of a freaking deity, right?

"If I may…I'll need your necklace."

She felt guilty as hell as soon as he mentioned the damn thing, her hand fluttering to her chest and eyes darting left and right. Did he know? Why did she care? She could take a necklace off and get a new one, it was no big deal, was it? Gulping, she pawed off the jewelry, gingerly handing it to him. Their hands brushed, and her eyes closed as the brief contact struck a chord within her. She'd really, really missed him.

He was cupping the pendant of her necklace between his palms, whispering something as a green glow shone and withdrew from the gem. After a moment he gestured for her to turn around, sweeping her hair aside with chilled fingertips that still somehow burned a path across her skin. Fastening the necklace, his hands latched onto her shoulders, spinning her around.

"I've modified the gem with a little spell I found," he said, nodding at it, and she looked down, gasping lightly at seeing it dimly glowing, swirls of different shades of green moving within the gem. "If anyone asks, say that it is an exotic gem that gives off an optical illusion, perhaps? Is this acceptable?" He made a sheepish gesture towards her chest, and she arched an eyebrow cheekily. "I dunno Loki, is this-" she gestured similarly at her chest "-acceptable?"

He appeared speechless for a moment, shifting his weight from one booted leg to another, visibly swallowing with difficulty. "The dress is…magnificent," he conceded at last. She grinned. "I love my souped-up necklace," she murmured, moving forward and hoping her sloppy drunk hug would be accepted.

Surprisingly, it was, Loki's arms closing fast around her with a creak of leather, Darcy pressing her face to his neck and placing a small kiss there. She felt him respond in kind, turning to press a feather-light kiss against her temple, and she sighed contentedly, disregarding the fact she probably reeked of alcohol.

"I missed you too," he whispered into her hair, tightening his embrace, and she stiffened for a moment before her lack of sobriety forgave him the mental intrusion. Actually, she felt bad for him for a second; anyone delving into the booze-soaked tangle of thoughts her mind was at the moment was to be pitied.

That train of thought led to another, where she was desperately glad he could only read minds when within a ten-foot radius, give or take. If he was to be believed. Not that she felt guilty about befriending Ian, or going out, or anything, Loki wasn't her keeper, he was like that cool friend from high school who you'd run into at the most random events and places. That was all he was. Yep.

"Mm, this is nice," she let out on a sigh, content to stay in his arms for as long as she could, distinctly opposed to having to support her own weight on stilettos while still eighty-percent-completely-trashed.

All too soon, his body went taut, as if he were listening, and then he leaned down to whisper into her ear that "her intern" was coming. That phrasing…

…Yikes.

Hopefully jealousy was not sufficient cause to attack the city again. She was probably flattering herself.

He pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point, almost possessively, simultaneously waving his hand in a movement that caused supernatural warmth to caress her wind-chilled skin. "I will see you again." And then he was gone, the patio door opening to reveal a tentative Ian.

Darcy must have looked quite the picture, losing balance at the abrupt lack of Loki's support, tottering on her damned shoes towards the railing again. Coughing slightly and feigning nonchalance, she nodded at Ian. "What's up?"

"Er…You'd been gone twenty minutes, everyone was concerned," Ian explained, a hand brushing nervously through his hair. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, probably too hastily, patting at her hair and adjusting her dress as she moved towards her intern. "I think I'm ready to call it a night, though."

He moved towards her, suddenly tripping, though one what, she couldn't see. Interesting.

Righting himself, Ian blushed bright red. "Promise, I only had the one." Darcy laughed, flapping a hand in assurance. "Oh, I definitely believe you." She cast a quick scowl at the rooftops around them. He reached her side and offered her his arm, chivalrous as ever, and she cursed inwardly, cursed the temptation of a normal boy and normal-er life.

He helped her into a cab downstairs after they'd wished the wasted Avengers a goodnight, and even requested the cabbie move slower, though it would increase the fare, so Darcy wouldn't feel like throwing up as much. This was too good to be true, her hazy thoughts said.

Somewhere between the cab pulling from the curb and pulling up to her own apartment building, Darcy had made a decision. The simplicity of staring up at the night sky on the ride home had cleared her own mind, and she knew she couldn't go on with this status quo. She couldn't count on the whims of a divine being any longer, couldn't compromise herself in the face of her own affections. Darcy Lewis was taking back her life.


	8. Chapter 8

The big night had arrived, likely one of the most important of Darcy Lewis' still-arguably-insignificant existence, but she was willing to take it. At nine tonight, she ascended to the rank of fully-fledged SHIELD agent, complete with personal assistant, a team of interns, a salary bigger than her entire staff's, and a concealed weapon permit. Okay, so the last was a small detail, tacked onto the end of her paperwork, but she felt like a certified badass now. A corner of her mind wondered if she was allowed to carry a firearm and her taser, but that question would probably come tonight, after a couple martinis, so she didn't look like she was an armed nut job even when sober.

It had been difficult to find something to wear, particularly since she had recently purged her wardrobe of anything green, and hadn't been in a shopping mood, which left her with extremely slim pickings. She'd been able to find a crimson silk creation at the back of her walk-in closet, grateful it still fit, and looked nice to boot. The fabric clung all over, cinching in tightly at the waist and wrapping across one alabaster shoulder artfully, and she wore her hair simply straightened to complete the look, adding basic eye makeup and a swipe of cherry lipstick. She cleaned up nicely, she thought, surveying the look in her full-length mirror before she had to leave for Stark Tower, hoping Ian the intern, who she'd been dating for months, would like it.

Or at least, she told herself she dressed for the intern; in reality, she was very seriously counting on at least one other suavely-accented party crasher.

After arriving at the party, she completed the necessary rounds of greetings and mingling, grabbing glasses of champagne at every chance. It was tedious, and she honestly couldn't understand how Pepper Potts lived for this stuff, the red tape in the guise of red ribbon. Boring people, false faces, false praise, bleh. At last, it was time for the actual ceremony, and Darcy joined Nick Fury at a shiny mahogany podium to accept a badge and a few less-gruff-than-usual words from SHIELD's surly director.

Finally, she was allowed to disappear into the crowd, snatching up another flute of the best champagne Tony Stark had been able to find, and wandered into the stairwell, seeking…up.

And so she found herself two floors below the roof, out on a railed terrace with a terrific view of Manhattan, the letters S-T-A-R-K illuminated above her head and providing a little light for her footing.

"You look like a wrapped gift; is this SHIELD's habit, to place its fresh meat on a platter with a bow to be ogled by the riffraff?"

She turned, and there was Loki, leaned against an ornate glass pillar with arms folded. His colors were muted tonight, she noted with a bit of puzzlement, drastically less gold and green in the black leather outfit he wore. His trademark leather overcoat moved in the light breeze, but he was otherwise motionless, save for his eyes roving up and down her form.

"Is there a compliment or congratulations in there somewhere?" She ventured dryly, turning back to the view. Tossing back the remaining contents of her glass, she hoped it was strong enough for the conversation that was to follow. Idly, she wished she could see the future, could see if she started World War III with the "it's not you, it's me" maneuver.

Fretfully, she started to tape the base of her fragile champagne flute against the banister, unsurprised when a small whoosh of air announced his arrival at her back, just to her right. She was pressed up against the metal already, and his long arms had no difficulty in reaching past her figure, delicate fingers splaying flat on the same railing she clutched. She shivered as his cool tone sounded from behind her, so close his words ruffled her hair. "Congratulations, Agent Lewis."

The syllables were…oddly resigned, as if this event had crossed a line between them. She knew it had.

Feeling not the least threatened by his enclosure of her, Darcy casually leaned back into his chest, sighing heavily and closing her eyes, sorting words in her head.

The wind was strong tonight, high up as she was, and she shivered from the cold, the slinky dress not doing much for practicality. "Thanks, Loki of Asgard. That still what you're going by? I don't get the Loki Times delivered to my door anymore…"

His light chuckle accompanied one of his hands moving to her waist, pulling her more firmly back against his warmth, which she was reminded was a façade. That led to wondering how much energy he expended on the regular, to feel so warm to her usually, combating his very nature as he was.

The champagne had temporarily emboldened her, and she turned within his arms, setting her glass on the railing and throwing her arms around his neck. Her lips sought and met his for the duration of a few ragged breaths, and before she knew it, she was propped up on the railing, the threat of imminent death by falling tens of stories not even on her radar. Loki's lips moved down her jaw and to her neck, and she gasped in a breath at the feeling of his hot palm on her thigh, snaking up underneath her dress, the other locked at her waist.

The railing put her at a slight height advantage, and it felt like he was kneeling to her, worshipping her, for a moment, and the metaphor was like a dousing of cold water, knowing what she'd lured him here to say. Pushing lightly at his shoulder, she smiled regretfully, hopping back down onto her feet with his disappointed aid. "I've got to reappear tonight, you can't wreck this!" She gestured at her hair makeup, kneeling quickly to fumble in the clutch she'd abandoned to the ground when she came up here.

Quickly, she touched up her lipstick and repaired any damage, studiously avoiding him as he stood above her, hot, bothered, and frustrated.

"You seem to have something on your mind." He said at length, when she emerged triumphant from her touch-up session.

"Can't read it and find out?" She joked weakly, plucking her glass from the railing and wishing it would refill itself.

"Actually, I cannot. You've…You are closed off to me, to our connection, as of late, and I think you are at least partly aware of that, if not contributing to it actively. Is there anything I must know, Darcy Lewis?"

"That's Agent," she mumbled, bunching up her shoulders in a symbol of gathering her courage. "And yes," she breathed, assumedly inaudibly. The remaining hand that lay flattened on the railing retracted with deliberate, chilling slowness, the hand clenching into a fist as it withdrew from her sight. That was her only warning, before his hands moved to close around her upper arms with less gentleness than he'd ever shown her in the past, flipping her around and pressing her against the railing. She hardly noticed when the flute slipped from her grasp, shattering on the concrete they stood on.

God oh God, he was probably thinking their interactions had been some sort of espionagey ploy, some pet project that would cement her training and guarantee her agent status. It's not true, it's not true, she thought fervently, trying to consciously open her mind to him for a moment.

All that succeeded in accomplishing was a furrow in Loki's brow and a gentling of his grip, thumbs rubbing apologetically at her shoulders. Worry and confusion colored his expression. "Darcy? What is going on?"

She closed her eyes, raising her empty hand to close around one of his taut forearms, clutching at the leather there to anchor herself. "Sorry to keep you hanging, I've just never had to uh, have a conversation like this with a minor deity who sometimes indulges in tantrums enhanced by magic…" Deciding she wasn't helping her case, she drew in a deep breath, quickly getting the words out. "We can't do this anymore, can't keep running into each other and we can't have amazing sex anymore and we just can't!"

His expression clouded anew, and his grip retreated entirely, hands falling to his sides. "I don't understand."

"I'm a fully-fledged SHIELD agent now. This is the big leagues, I can't fully commit to this, this duty that is going to spell out the rest of my life, with such a skeleton in the closet, no matter how tall or sexily-broody he is. I'm committing a million counts of treason and blatant, I dunno, dishonesty, just by talking with you and I'm so, so sorry, but I have got to be above-board from now on. I just…Need to end this on good terms. It's…you understand honor."

He laughed, an unpleasant noise that tore from his throat like an escaped animal, and he moved to pace, agitated, in front of her. "Honor? Of course I can understand honor, the thing supposedly gleaned from blood-soaked glory upon the battlefield, of despoiling innocent maidens cursed with simply being on the enemy's side, of blindly destroying everything in your path until all that remains is this supposed honor. Yes, my interaction with Thor for centuries has thoroughly illuminated this concept, Darcy."

She might have squeaked aloud in dismay, running a flustered hand through her straightened locks. "Uh, I, well, that's not my idea of it, Loki." Lame, that was lame Darcy, concoct a poem on the spot like he just had. "I'm, it's…It's also Ian, my intern. He's…well, he sorta got a promotion in the emotional department."

His pacing stopped so quickly it took her a moment to process he'd halted, and her eyes widened in a brief moment of alarm, frantically quenching the instincts that had been instilled in her via SHIELD training. No pulling weapons on Loki.

"These are not the only reasons you refuse our connection." He spoke succinctly, his tone sharp and cutting straight through her defenses. She cringed as if it physically hurt, and he continued. "A boy, and some imaginary loyalty to this SHIELD and its pathetic ranks? Did it crop up overnight, Darcy? Where was this supposed loyalty when we crossed paths for the first time years ago, and you showered kindness on SHIELD's most prized prisoner, helped me escape? Where was this dogged faith in Fury's minions and their system when you allowed me to evade their clutches again in Germany, and in so many other instances?"

Her blue eyes chased his green ones to the skyline they were glued to, but she couldn't what held his attention. Sniffling, she whisked a finger across one eye surreptitiously, slapping a palm down on the railing for effect. When she spoke, her voice was husky with emotion. "Damn it, Loki. I'm mortal." Her words fell like Thor's hammer upon an enemy, and the only noise for a moment was the whistling wind.

"I refuse to wither away in front of you, provided I'm not hit by a car or get level ten pneumonia before then. I refuse to leave you, first mentally from dementia or whatever, then physically, knowing what it would do to you. You can try to downplay our connection all you want, but I can see how this would play out. I don't need magical powers for that, and I'm trying to do some damage control before it's needed."

He was silent, and her voice rose to a frantic cry as she tried to convey her meaning. "I don't get to be the selfish god-hogging mortal chick, Loki!" Both hands now moved to her eyes, wiping furiously at her burgeoning tears and hoping her waterproof makeup held up.

"Your friend, Jane Foster. She plans to ascend to Aesir status, to stay alongside my brother." His words were toneless, as if he were casually observing the weather, but she saw the veiled suggestion.

"I can't speak for Jane, but it's my personal belief that if I were born for that life, that existence, I'd have been given it, Loki."

His face fell, almost imperceptibly, and her heart broke a little more with each passing second of silence.

"There could still be a way. You could still forsake these people, my enemies, come with me."

"I can do good with them, Loki. I can make something of myself, be more than the dumb intern who knows nothing about the stars."

"You are already quite something, Darcy Lewis, and you know more of the stars than you think." And then he was gone, Darcy left with a destroyed glass and wet cheeks for company.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Darcy jerked awake from the familiar nightmare, body jerking like she was still trying to run, the details of the dream already trickling away like water through her fingers. They'd been more persistent lately, the dreams; in them she was always running from something, through a dark, frozen forest. She dryly imagined it was some sort of subconscious metaphor, her fleeing death or mortality or whatever, but the dreams were soaked with a terror that she had never felt in her waking moments. That wasn't the way she felt about her impending demise.

Forgetting where she was for a moment, she coughed hoarsely and sat up, hand rumpling unfamiliar sheets. Ah. The hospital.

So absorbed in muffling her cough, she didn't notice a patch of darkness slightly darker than the shadows in her room, edging furtively towards the window. Heart still racing, Darcy looked up and around at a small noise, eyes alighting on movement near the window. Something metallic scraped at the window pane, bared from curtains so she could see the moon, and she screamed, the effort exhausting but necessary.

Something stirred on the other side of the room, near her door, and her head whipped around to see her daughters both seated in bedside guest chairs, grumbling awake at her shriek. The sound dying away, Darcy hazarded another glance at the window, in time to see a strange light shimmer out of existence.

Something tried to click in her brain, hesitantly. It didn't make sense, but it did.

"He was here," she moaned, both hands coming to her head and seizing fistfuls of hair. She was soon rocking back and forth, sobbing and choking out the same phrase, and Alice and Anna were soon fully awake.

"Mom? What the-" Anna was standing up, chestnut hair puffed up from her sleeping position, staring blankly at her mother.

Alice shot her an annoyed glance, moving to Darcy's side, a soothing hand moving to her wrist, the other rubbing her shoulder. "Mom? What's wrong?"

"He was here, why didn't…He…I…sorry…" Darcy was fully losing it, mind racing like a herd of frightened gazelle in the African safari. Alice kept tugging at her arms, and she finally released her death grip on her hair, while Anna turned on the room light, peeking around for intruders. She saw nothing, raising her eyebrows at Alice from an angle their mother couldn't see.

Anna hit the call button specialized for Birger's pager, and as he'd taken up residence in an office in the hospital, he was soon in the room, assistant absent. He had a hilarious orange-striped housecoat on, as it was around three in the morning, and Anna suppressed sleep-deprived giggles with a fist shoved to her mouth.

Alice remained perched at her mother's side while Birger checked her eyes, pulse, and what day it was, all the customary little checks. Darcy answered like an obedient child, her eyes cemented on the window.

"Only a nightmare, I think," Birger murmured, patting Darcy on her wrist. "We'll see about changing your sleep medicine to something that will get you away from the dreaming sleep level, I think." He made a hasty mark on a clipboard they hadn't seen him bring in, nodding in satisfaction at the note he'd made. "Is there anything I can get any of you ladies?"

The sight of him playing butler in that ridiculous robe had Anna giggling again, and Alice smiling ruefully, rising from the bed to shake his hand in both of hers earnestly. "Thank you so much for your call, Mr. Birger, and for all of your help so far." He nodded, eyes darting downward to her wrist and away.

Darcy, watching the exchange, suddenly froze. "Alice? What is that on your wrist?"

Alice's red Henley top had ridden up at the wrist, baring a thin, gold-chained bracelet that glinted even in the terrible hospital lighting. Upon further inspection, it wasn't the chain itself that glinted, but several small green gems spaced evenly along it. The stones had an incandescent green sheen, seemingly swirling, and Darcy froze in horror, staring at her daughter's wrist.

"No," Darcy muttered, pulling her knees up to her chest in bed, head cocking as she stared.

"Mom, it's a bracelet, what's wrong?" Alice's voice was thick with concern, brows furrowing as she dropped Birger's hand, her own pair dropping to her sides. Her fingers clenched and unclenched in a dead giveaway of Alice nervousness, and Darcy raised a shaking finger to point at the offensive jewelry.

"Where did you get that?"

"Mom, it's a trinket I picked up at a market in Iceland-"

"Don't lie to me, Alice Frigga-" Darcy's tone was reaching a hysterical pitch again, and Anna raced to her side, trying to shush her.

"I think a sedative might be in order-" Birger muttered, darting from the room as the women faced each other.

Alice, for her part, remained calm. "Mom, I don't understand what you think is happening? This reminds me of your necklace, I just like it-"

"Did he give it to you?!" Darcy was shrieking again, her body wracked with the physical exertion, her breaths coming in ragged. In a burst of motion, she crawled to the end of the bed, a hand reaching out to latch onto Alice's wrist. The bracelet momentarily glowed brighter, and Darcy looked down to see her own necklace imitate the action, and her jaw dropped. Surely not…

Alice jerked back as if burned, green eyes bright with anxiety, before she lunged towards her chair, grabbing her bag and fleeing out the door, boots clacking as she progressed down the hallway.

Darcy had broken down into a sobbing mess, crumpled at the foot of her bed, and a hapless Anna was left to pick up the pieces, coaxing her mother back under the covers and praying Birger would arrive soon with the sedative.

When he did, and Darcy was sleeping again, Anna trailed a hand idly through her mother's mahogany locks, frowning thoughtfully at the doctor. "Why did you contact Alice? Was it really about mom's prognosis? We could have told her that."

Birger's lips were pursed, a strange rigidity in his posture. "Alice can help your mother recover," his eyes flicked to Anna, "as can you, my dear. I don't think either of you realize it, but she has very nearly given up, with the both of you grown and ready to take flight. I am simply giving my best advice to the parties most involved with each aspect of it." His eyes left hers, trailing down her mother's sleeping form. "I will see if my assistant can find Miss Alice and make sure she is alright." Then he left, not looking back.

Anna pulled out her phone, a single swipe and a few spoken commands sending a text to both her father and sister. She then folded her arms, starting to pace in front of the double windows and biting her lip in thought. If there wasn't enough withheld information surrounding her family to fill the an entire office in the NSA, she was a talking parrot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You guys can always reach me on twitter at bonoftherings, or on tumblr, at TalesOfAGardenGnome. ~Bon


	9. Chapter 9

Darcy Lewis married Ian Boothby a year to the date of her ascension to agent status, in a quiet ceremony in a peaceful corner of England. It had all needed copious amounts of paperwork, simple as the event itself was, because SHIELD of course needed its nose in every aspect of her life now, and insisted upon an additional background check of Ian. They scoured his files for weeks before giving her the red tape-covered thumbs up, and they'd left that very afternoon.

Darcy's days were agreeably hectic after becoming an agent, giving her little to no time to think about the mischievous god she'd more or less scorned on a rooftop four hundred days ago. Not that she was counting, or anything. She of course hadn't seen him since then, but there had been mutterings around SHIELD, as of late, and increasing worried expressions traversing its hallways. Rumors spreading of guerilla cells in nearly any country with an unsavory connotation; Russia, Iran, Bolivia, even Mexico. The rumors whispered of these cells being comprised of barbaric recruits under the tutelage of some alien head honcho who held a serious grudge for SHIELD and related do-gooder agencies of the world, and something big was being geared up for.

Darcy had not been given nearly as many action missions as she'd hoped for, instead being shifted back to a glorified paper-shuffler for the past several weeks. Her mental acuity was being tapped for analyzing and re-analysing incarceration paperwork, documented threats, transcripts of televised speeches against SHIELD. Her bosses were looking for something, or someone, and her blood grew cold at the thought of them suspecting Loki of another attempt on Earth.

She'd had to go through his paperwork, too, unpleasantly sorting through transcripts of meeting with him, hearing his voice read the words she saw on the page as if it were happening then and there.

And then, one day, alarms had again sounded through SHIELD's hallways. Darcy had leapt up with a grimace, throwing on her blazer and double-checking her weapon before bursting out of her office and into the corridor. She spotted Ian with a group of researchers, being herded to a safe room, and she flipped him a hurried thumbs-up; no time to chat. They would have live video feed of the goings-on in there anyways, and she had to focus.

Touching the small comm unit in her ear, Darcy murmured a quick code to check the line's security and open it up. "Fox fur, this is Strawberry Danish. Coming in?" She smiled distractedly, dashing around a corner as she headed for a top office, one of the go-to stations in an emergency, for agents to meet. She would never grow tired of Fury's hilarious code name, and was equally delighted with the one she'd been able to choose for herself. Fury's voice muttered affirmation into her ear a moment later, followed by several more check-ins.

Darcy's smile dropped immediately off her face when she rounded one more corridor, in time to see an agent fall to the floor, hopefully just unconscious, his throat just having been released by none other than Loki.

"Shit," she breathed, rapidly recalling her headset and glad as hell she hadn't said anything more familiar. She didn't even reach for her weapon, her hands stayed limp at her sides as the god turned to face her.

He gave no hint of recognition, except for a strong sorrow rising in his eyes as he spotted her. It was something no one else would notice. He was again clothed differently, dark leather gloves now covering his pianist hands, somehow hardening his very being; his overcoat was a completely black concoction, shining dimly in the fluorescent emergency lights, and his boots thudded ominously against the tile as he took two steps toward her. His hair was loose, tousled from whatever antics he'd been up to before she came along the hallway.

"Is this the most SHIELD has to offer?" There was a sneer in his voice that didn't reach his expression, and a foot idly kicked at one of the unconscious officers at his feet.

She swallowed heavily, tears brimming suddenly, and hoping the damned surveillance cameras wouldn't catch it. Weak, what was she doing being weak on SHIELD surveillance? She had a reputation that preceded her, and her cockiness had one all its own. "I will now accept your surrender, Loki."

He laughed, the sound humorless and echoing. He raised his arms, gesturing in a circle around him. "One woman? Oh, indeed, I am thoroughly defenseless in the face of such might. Shall I handcuff myself, madame?"

He's lost it or something, she thought, eyes darting around the hall. But he wouldn't hurt her. Right?

"Agent Lewis, we are closing in! Keep him distracted!" A male voice ordered roughly through her headset, and Darcy raised her head, panic setting in at the thought of ten guns aimed at him. Trying to convey something wordlessly to Loki, she wasn't sure what, she started walking towards him, hands raised slightly, head cocked to one side.

"Okayyy, well, I juuustt wanna talk, big guy," she faux-cajoled, hoping he, master of lies and trickery, would sense her goal. "What do you want with SHIELD?"

She was fifteen paces away when she heard the SHIELD swat team thunder around the corner and into the same hallway, voices yelling "FREEZE!" at the same time. Darcy felt a single tear spring loose, and she mouthed "please" in Loki's direction, deliberately turning and facing her back to him. Cockily jerking a thumb in his direction and managing to swipe away the tear at the same time, she yelled at her team, "I got this! He's not getting outta-"

A second later, Loki was at her back, an arm roughly around her waist but not tight enough to hurt, a gloved hand across her mouth. "Stand down, you fools, or your ranks will be one less in the span of a second."

The team paused, and several curses sounded into Darcy's headset. "For god's sake, Coulson, where the hell is Rogers?! We need him in that hallway!" To which another voice responded, anxiously, "The emergency protocols were activated, Sir, vital doorways are sealed and he's having to strong-arm through them single-handedly! He won't be able to get to her for a few more moments!"

Loki's grip tightened fractionally, and he shifted, lifting Darcy completely off her feet in a way that probably looked harmful as fuck, but in reality was gentle. "Are you imbeciles capable of hearing and understanding me? Why, even your German counterparts understood my English enough to kneel in that town square, what is your excuse? Perhaps SHIELD is lowering its standards, wanting simpler-minded pawns to do its dirty work. Put. Your. Weapons. Down. Now."

A dagger had appeared in his hand, the blade held flat against Darcy's cheek, and she tightened her jaw, trying to play the unfazed agent in charge of herself. "You don't have to do this, Mr. Asgard. You can let us know what you want, and I'm sure we can work with you without chains or kneeling or magical blasts being involved." There was more muttering in her headset, and she took a deep breath.

All of a sudden, she was released to fall to the floor. Loki had completely disappeared in lieu of a reply, and her eyes widened as she waved furiously at the elite gunmen. "Main lab chamber!" She took off, hoping the team would follow her.

There was no sign of Loki as she darted down another hallway, grateful as hell that her wing of headquarters seemed to have none of the roadblocks Captain America was having to pry his way through. Maybe Loki had planned that. Still didn't answer why he was here, though.

Skidding to a stop outside a heavily-locked glass door, she swiped a lanyard around her neck, then pressed her palm to an identification pad. The light glowed green, and she sighed in relief as the door began its depressurization process, but her breath caught anew when she caught sight of what was happening inside, through the door's large glass pane. A shaking hand moved to her hip, drawing her gun and priming it for firing.

Tony Stark was being held by the throat by Loki, who had somehow teleported inside even the most-secure door at SHIELD, that of the most internal lab, where the best-kept secrets were. Research, development, meetings of the highest ranking agents, a lot of it happened here. A lot of Jane's work, too, and Darcy noted with a pang that the astrophysicist was indeed inside, backed against a wall behind Tony. The Asgardian was speaking, not paying much attention to Jane, but a hand moved lazily to bat in the direction of Natasha Romanoff, who was flung again to the floor across the room. She pulled herself from the ground, teeth gritted tightly, as Darcy gained admittance to the room at last, SWAT team behind her.

"I'd re-think who you put in a choke-hold around here, Darth Vader," Darcy ground out, weapon raised in both hands as she tried a firm, authoritative tone, moving with the cautious movements she'd been taught towards an advantageous spot of the room. Loki didn't bat a lash, but he seemed to stiffen, catching sight of the weapon in her hand, and she was, out of the blue, very, very sorry she had to aim a gun at him.

His hand abruptly released Stark, who quickly pressed a button on some gadgety bracelet he was wearing. Within five seconds, a suit had burst from a case against one wall, and he was Ironman, arrogant tone coming through his own speaker. "We gotta stop meeting like this, Reindeer Games." He raised one blaster palm, aiming it straight at Loki, who suddenly teleported into the very middle of the large R&D lab, gaining distance from each SHIELD agent.

"You know, I have never received quite such a rude acceptance speech for an offer of my assistance." Loki's tone was silky, feigning hurt as he linked his hands behind his back and began to pace. The Black Widow was subtly moving towards him, but he threw up another hand, and she was suddenly unable to move at all, except for a furrowing of her brows.

"Help? I didn't know that word was in your internal dictionary, big guy," Ironman drawled, starting to circle around to take a defensive stance near Darcy. "A, we don't need your help, if that's what this is, and B, you sure have a hell of a way of trying to play nice."

"I hold dramatic effect in high regard," Loki was smiling, green eyes squinting with the action, and his eyes flicked over Darcy, moving on to the men behind her and then flicking to the door behind her.

A whoosh signaled the opening of the door, and Fury rushed in, flanked by a huffing Coulson, who stopped short at the physical sight of Loki. She wouldn't blame the dude for backing right out the door again, but to his credit, he stood his ground, raising his weapon and moving beside her.

"Oh, Mister True Power, how nice to see you again," Fury snarled. "Back with more glorious purposes, after abandoning our hospitality so rudely?"

Loki scowled, before his attention flicked up and to the side. A quick dart of her own vision upward showed Darcy the ninjalike moves of Hawkeye, up in the rafters of the room and locking a shaft onto his bow.

The door behind her shuddered again, and Captain America rushed in, shortly followed by Thor. Thor bounded to near Darcy, Mjölnir in his hand, but he slowed at the sight of Jane so close to Loki. "Brother? Why have you, how have you...?" His confusion was kind of adorable, or it would have been, if this was anything like the time Darcy had explained a toaster to the big blonde hunk.

"I think we're all wondering that," she shot sideways at the thunder god.

"Now that the entire family is here," his trickster brother crooned, posture suddenly relaxing as he moved to lean against a laboratory table, "We can get down to business."

"Or we can take you out, and go about our own business," Ironman shot at him, a blast emitting from his palm after a quick, high-pitched robotic squeal. Loki flicked a wrist lazily, the blast diverting to a patch on a far wall, sparks flying from impact with the metal. Was he stronger, or was it just her? Darcy was wondering idly, straightening her hands on her gun and adjusting her stance.

"As I was saying, I come offering…A truce of sorts," Loki continued, voice completely flat and disinterested, his gaze on his cuffs, as he adjusted a gauntlet. Darcy was reminded of the one she still had at home, and embarrassingly still put on when she felt in need of comfort. When Ian wasn't around, of course. What did that make her…But Loki's continuing speech had her shaking thoughts of morality from her head.

"I am not your friend, but neither will I be your enemy, for as long as the lack of malicious intent suits my purpose." His words had every Avenger in the room shooting a glance at the nearest comrade, brows raising comically.

"Someone hand me the remote, I need to rewind," Tony Stark's mechanically-altered voice sounded extra tinny in the silence. "You want a truce, Divalicious?"

"Perhaps not with you, man of iron, as long as those insults keep flowing from your vocal rubbish bin," Loki snapped back, straightening again. "As you may have noticed, I am much more powerful than you have previously been accustomed to," Darcy's thoughts shot to the Jotun relic, "and frankly, not in the mood for games. I have 'lain low', as I believe you say, but there are now forces at work in the universe that require my attention and action more than your childish antics, SHIELD," he sneered the title like it disgusted him, "And I would prefer to deal with matters undeterred by insects."

"That's a really insult-soaked way to say 'peace, guys'," Darcy snapped, flicking her hair back and out of her face. "Why should we believe anything you say? You likely just wanna lull us into a sense of complacency."

His eyes gleamed with temporary admiration that likely went unnoticed by the rest of them, but he smiled. "Your pitiful establishment cannot take me as you did upon my return from Asgard. You could not contain me now if you tried, and yet I offer this as a balance, to counteract the very miniscule kindness of not killing me on the spot so long ago. Take it or leave it, SHIELD. I shall leave means of contact, if I feel disposed towards assisting in any way."

Then he was gone, vanished in another blink of an eye, and everyone just stared. SHIELD's finest, reduced to stupidly gawking at an empty space, minds racing like hamsters on a wheel, absolutely getting nowhere.

Thor moved automatically to Jane's side, and she threw her arms around him, shaking. "What the hell was that?" She whispered, echoing everyone's sentiments. A rattling above them signified Hawkeye quivering his arrow, and shortly after, a cord swung him to the ground. He moved towards Fury just as the Black Widow did, the three of them murmuring in hushed tones and gesturing with quick movements.

Darcy's gun was still raised, and she shakily forced her limbs to lower it, then her arms to retract, and finally, one hand to guide it to her holster. She'd had to hold a gun on Loki…

Jane's arms were around her the next moment, and she clung to her scientist best friend, regretting not visiting her more. Also regretting never filling her in on the biggest secret in her life, but it was better to keep Jane less stressed, that was what Darcy told herself.

When everyone was seen to be alright, Fury barked an order to restore conditions across headquarters, and everyone split up, scheduled for a meeting to evaluate the situation and Loki's offer in another couple of hours.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Darcy's hospital room window was propped open, letting a fresh breeze in, and she was reading a magazine as serenely as she could do anything these days. Anna was in her room, only having left her side to shower and attend a final at school, and was currently picking at the remnants of Darcy's lunch lazily.

All at once, loud screams and a smashing sound came from the parking lot's direction, and Darcy twitched with a gasp, hand moving to her chest. "What…?"

Anna was already up, moving to the window and shoving it further open, craning to see down.

"Someone's…I dunno, on a gurney, being helped into the ER," she mumbled, backing away from the window when she could see no more. "I'm sure it's nothing mom, they've got it, this is a hospital!"

Darcy hadn't seen Alice in two days, and was feeling the shame of her, frankly, completely insane reaction to a bracelet on her daughter's wrist. She was a heavily medicated, older woman, probably imagining things ten ways til Sunday, and her instincts were likely untrustworthy. Still, she had a bad feeling about the occurrence downstairs, confirmed when her specialist Birger rushed into the room, looking frantic.

"Pardon me, Miss Darcy, but my assistant, he was injured, on his, ah, way here, to attend me today," the short man gasped, fastening a wristwatch and throwing on his white coat. "You must excuse me, I must make sure he is alright. I shall return later." And then he was gone, moving fast for a little older guy, Darcy frowning heavily.

Ian was the next to come through the door, looking flabbergasted as he moved to change out the flowers in the vase at Darcy's bedside. "Do you know Alice just saved a man from a hit and run?"

"What? Alice?" Anna was on her feet, pulling out her phone.

"Our daughter is here? Where?" Darcy's voice rose as she spoke, and she moved to actually get out of bed, but Anna rushed to put a hand on her shoulder. "Mom, stop! Wait! I've got a text from her."

Anna's parents listened as she read the quick text aloud. "Helped with an accident in hospital parking lot, will be up to see mom later. Love you all." The brunette looked up, shaking her head dazedly. "What the hell kind of a day is this even? Do you think it's Birger's assistant's accident?" No one answered, and she wandered back to the window, but could see nothing below.

Ian left shortly after, as he still worked for SHIELD and they needed him to submit a report that evening. Anna convinced Darcy to take a few bites of the dinner tray that arrived an hour later, glad she could get her mother to swallow something. When Darcy was finishing a second glass of water, the door opened quietly, Alice slipping inside, looking pale and exhausted. Neither said anything, daughter moving to mother and simply throwing her arms around her, their similar jewelry ignored for the moment.

"What a day," Alice breathed, backing away and flopping into a visitor's chair. "I'm so sorry I haven't been by…" Anna cut her off, asking immediately for the full story of that morning.

Alice ran a hand through her ebony locks, explaining that she had been on her way to visit Darcy that morning, after thinking some stuff over. She'd parked in a distant visitor's lot of the hospital across the street, and was crossing at the same time as a crowd of other pedestrians. Suddenly, a car had appeared, speeding around the corner and swerving towards the crosswalk despite flashing lights and so many people in the road. People had started to run, making for the other side of the road just in time, but the car had veered, probably a drunk driver, towards stragglers, resulting in an impact. Alice had been behind everyone else, caught in the middle of the road and paralyzed, standing still as the car struck someone, she didn't know who.

The car had then been put into reverse and backed a fair distance down the road before shockingly heading in the very same direction. Alice had taken action, spotting a wounded man across the way, other pedestrians having moved back out of their own fear, and somehow managed to tackle him out of the road itself. Belatedly, she realized it was the helper of her mother's doctor.

Her story was pretty ridiculous, her tone faltering at times as if she had to think, her eyes darting towards the ceiling in recollection often. Anna had just widened her eyes and whistled at the end of the story, saying she'd have a medal made for her hero sister, but Darcy had been thoughtfully silent, patting Alice's hand and promising they'd sort their messes out later. Then she told Anna to take Alice home, and make sure she had a proper meal and rest.

When her girls had left, Darcy had tapped a finger absentmindedly on her bedcover-clad knee for some time, biting down on her lip in thought. When her decision was made, she placed a call to SHIELD from her cell, glad they let her keep it, keying in an extension from muscle memory when prompted. When a voice answered at the other end, Darcy had finally collected herself enough to speak clearly and calmly. "I'm gonna need that sealed envelope, you know the one I mean. Can you visit me tomorrow? And, I'm wondering if your intern can do me a favor."


	10. Chapter 10

The drilling stares of four pairs of disapproving eyes were not going to get to Darcy Lewis, the woman told herself, shifting the military-grade tablet in her arms and swiping a finger lazily across the screen. Her eyes never strayed from the map she was surveying, but it was no easy task, being eyed like a fat, exotic gorilla being featured for This week only! at the zoo.

She was seated in the cargo hold of a SHIELD-operated vehicle, a heavily-armored SUV used exclusively for the most dangerous missions. The back was laid out much like a plane, with airplane-style seats lining each flank of the SUV, forcing passengers to face each other. This sort of transportation was typically reserved for the Avengers, for obvious reasons of heightened risk and danger, which was why the bulky forms of Steve Rogers and Clint Barton, the nondescript slightness of Natasha Romanoff, and the lanky height of Loki were all crammed into the space like sardines. Darcy felt like a sad excuse for a cracker jack toy, the sort you dug eagerly through the carton of sweets for; but nope, amongst all the muscle and power in the backseat, there was only her, pitiful mortal.

It didn't help that the seat belts were extremely tight, and made of a coarse material, cutting off her circulation at every turn. If she'd been brave enough, she'd have asked Steve, her most likely ally in the car, to help adjust her belt, but she didn't dare. The poor guy was cool as a cucumber in every mission setting she'd ever witnessed him in, on surveillance or in person, but man, stick a five-months pregnant woman next to him in the car, and the guy got jumpy.

"Hey Steve," Darcy began, and he jerked within his own seat restraints, bumping his head on the roof of the SUV while he was it it. "Yikes, sorry dude! This look like a good drop spot?" She continued with a wince for his benefit, proffering her tablet and pointing at a section on the digital map covering the screen. He nodded, and she reached for a walkie strapped to her hip with a little difficulty, finally getting it to her mouth to give coordinates to the leading driver of the SHIELD convoy.

While Darcy couldn't say with sincerity that she enjoyed the fact she'd been bumped down to more menial work, it wasn't like she could clone herself and have one body endure the pregnancy and all it entailed. Ian was over the moon, and his enthusiasm had been contagious, though she hated the coddling and fussing everyone forced on her. Frankly, she was amazed she'd been allowed on this mission at all, given her advanced condition, but Fury had issued an explicit order after conferring with her at length. She had been deemed vital assistance, but was to be kept bundled away and safe during the operation. No small reluctance was tangible in the air around SHIELD in the days leading up to the mission.

It had all started when, two weeks before, Loki had again appeared in the middle of SHIELD's headquarters. More precisely, Fury's office, just as the man had been lifting a mug of coffee to his lips as he spoke to Hawkeye. Housekeeping had bitched about the carpet stains for weeks.

Up until then, cryptic intelligence from Loki had trickled into SHIELD's earshot now and again, always helpful and vital to the specific missions they were planning, and he was hesitantly labeled a credible contact.

This time, Loki had shockingly come in person, about the matter of SHIELD's shadowy enemy, insisting he had found evidence of an abandoned base in northern Canada appearing quite active as of late. That information had corresponded with a shadowy attack on one of SHIELD's outposts in the region, leaving dozens of agents dead or injured. The Asgardian had flung a laminated map and accompanying surveillance printouts onto Fury's desk, disregarding Hawkeye focusing an arrow on his eye-socket as he explained. Fury couldn't grasp the idea of Loki typing on a computer, researching and going to the trouble of printing information for SHIELD, but he had grasped it well enough when Loki had grabbed him by the collar, lifting him three feet in the air and insisting this was no game, that he would find another agency to partner with if need be.

After that, things had moved quickly, Loki's provided leads being followed up on as quickly as possible. Darcy had already been moved to deskwork, but her excellence in those areas had her at the top of the list for consultation, and she'd quickly been brought in to assess the risks of a potential raid on the base. Gathered around a large table Darcy had dubbed "the roundtable of strategy", the Avengers, Fury, she, and a few others had analyzed what Loki had brought.

The surfacing of an active base so much closer to this headquarters than a remote corner of Russia or somewhere could not be ignored, and indeed, an attack could plausibly be imminent; they would have to act first. Grainy pictures had given them an idea of the apparently-meager force gathered there, but uniform similarities and troop drill movements visible in the images quickly convinced everyone that this could be another cell of the force they had yet to face. How Loki came about the information was a matter of debate, half the team wondering if it were a trick, the other half simply marveling at his hacking magic, but if anyone were to walk into a trap, the Avengers could handle it.

The only small comfort was that the army appeared to be human, but in several images, a tall blonde woman was faintly visible, and she looked to be a figure of power, giving orders and directing. Sometimes her form was nearly see-through, as if she were not really there, and it was difficult to tell if that was merely a matter of photography inconsistency. When asked who he thought she could be, Loki had simply murmured something about employing extreme caution, eyes flicking down the table to Darcy and away again, before he swept from the room. That was helpful.

And here they were, she paired with the cavalry until their scheduled divergence, a few more miles into Canadian wilderness. Darcy was going to be left in charge of the monitoring team, ensconced in the woods, tapping away at surveillance data while safely camouflaged with advanced technology installed on the vehicles.

"Everyone is clear on the plan, right?" Darcy offered cheerfully, craning her aching neck to collect a grim nod from everyone in the vehicle, even Clint, brooding in the passenger seat at the prospect of riding with Loki.

The god in question of course had not acknowledged Darcy the whole trip, except to watch her, or more importantly, her condition. A glacial green stare had been locked on her abdomen for nearly all of the several hours they'd spent in the vehicle, and she wondered if he'd go cross-eyed if he tried to read a book now. Her baby was probably getting the creeps, and as she glanced at him again to see his eyes unmoved, she rubbed a hand across her stomach self-consciously.

Foot tapping nervously, Darcy's eyes sought the roof of the vehicle as she called out to the driver. "How much longer?"

"Two minutes 'til the A's are getting pulled," the man assured her, referring to the Avengers with the more casual name SHIELD had adopted, cutting off a few syllables in the interest of mission-required haste.

True to his word, the car slowed to a stop a little over a minute later, and Darcy could see nothing but thick forest out the front windshield, the only outside visibility from where she sat. On cue, Natasha, Steve, Clint, and Loki were flitting out of seat belts and buckling on various weaponry. It felt like recess, and Darcy was the one kid not allowed to go out and play. She frowned deeply, thumbs drumming anxiously on the tablet she held in sleep-mode.

Steve paused in his ministrations to pat her shoulder warmly, if gingerly, before taking up his shield. She smiled weakly up at him, trying to quench a suddenly-strong feeling of unease. He beamed back before springing out the back of the SUV without hesitation, immediately scanning the area. Natasha moved to follow, and the passenger door was banging shut, signaling Clint's exit as well. Loki was right behind Natasha, but paused abruptly, and Darcy yanked her courage from whatever hiding place it had found.

"Loki, I'd like to go over some last-minute protocol with you. You haven't been on a SHIELD mission before," she started, and he nodded silently, back still facing her. Natasha held up three fingers, indicating Darcy had little time, and then the assassin gave her a strange look, shepherding the other Avengers further into the clearing for a small huddle. Bruce Banner, Tony, and Thor would be meeting them closer to the target facility.

Loki leaped from the vehicle and turned to face Darcy, a hand latching onto each door in preparation to shut them. She fumbled with her seat belt, huffing in annoyance until the thing released her, and she gracelessly shuffled forward, flicking a finger across her tablet as if to show him something. Instead, she knelt in place, leaning forward to catch his eyes. "I have a bad feeling about this." She coughed lightly, the colder, drier air making it harder to talk, and a glimpse of concern flashed across his expression before he again concealed it masterfully. "You…I've no right to, uh, worry, I'm sure you believe, but…" She was stammering, lacking all Darcy bluntness, and it was annoying. "Just be careful. I'll be personally monitoring your frequency."

It was like talking to a wall, and she looked from side to side awkwardly as Loki remained silent. Finally, he stepped back, moving to shut the doors. "You should not have come. You are responsible for the safety of more than yourself, concentrate on that." With that cold admonishment, Darcy was left blinking in the darkness resulting from the doors shutting. She wasn't sure she'd believe him concerned for the well-being of what he likely considered no more than Ian's spawn, and snorted in derision, shuffling back to her equipment.

Flipping open her laptop, she opened the program that would monitor Loki's vitals, location, and everything in between. It was customary on missions, though he had assured SHIELD that he would magically fry the device when this was over with. No one else had volunteered to watch his tracker, and she'd accepted with muted relish. Everything looked good, his signal moving with predictability towards the planned areas. A light knocking on the back of the SUV introduced the rest of her team, all assigned their own vehicles-turned-tech-stations, and she hopped out to instruct them. Any massive fluctuations in vitals, any lost signals, anything remotely panic-inspiring would be passed on to her immediately. But it was the Avengers, everyone cockily acknowledged, and nothing ever went wrong with so many of them in one place. She dismissed her team with a thumbs-up, stationing herself in front of her laptop with a bottle of iced tea, glumly wishing for a spinning chair and more legroom.

A dull impact in her abdominal region made Darcy smile; the baby had recently started kicking, something that had actually barely startled her the first time. She supposed it was because she was so accustomed to the company of a mischief god who blinked in and out of existence like a six-foot-tall lightbulb; that connection had saddened her, as that company was no longer an option.

Rubbing the swollen area comfortingly, she settled in with a book, eyes flicking to the screen every once in a while. An incessant beeping was part of the tracking function, representing distance of the agent, and it was few and far between right now, showing how far away Loki was. It would speed up like a watch alarm sounding, when the team was returning.

Two hours later, Darcy's feeling of apprehension had only grown, despite her attempts to lose herself in a trashy romance novel and stuff herself with saltines.

As if on cue, her walkie suddenly emitted a sharp burst of crackle, scaring her into dropping her book. A thud sounded outside simultaneously, following a brief yell. Her driver was alert, a calming hand flung out even as he drew his sidearm, and she knew that was never good. Diving for her walkie, Darcy's brow furrowed. "Johnson? Birke?" None of her team were responding, and they'd been right outside.

Her blood ran cold as her driver exited the vehicle. "No, don't!-" Several bangs rent the air, accompanied by a guttural scream that quickly dropped off, and Darcy covered her mouth with both hands, freezing. A shattering noise revealed the body of her bodyguard flung into the windshield of the SUV, broken glass and splashes of blood flung everywhere with the movement, and she shrieked into her palms. What the hell could do that? Everything went silent for a moment, and she edged towards the back door, thinking if she could make it into the woods, she could make it. Her laptop was still making far-spaced beeping noises, and she nearly sobbed at what that indicated. No help coming.

Grasping at the door handle with fingers slick with sweat, Darcy moved to open them, when her walkie went off again. "Lewis – krrssshhhh – under attack! Call – krrsshhhh – aargghhkkk!" the transmission cut off eerily, and Darcy bit down on her lower lip, praying for calm. She was five months pregnant, stuck in the back of a vehicle that was likely surrounded by an enemy force that was picking off her team one by one. Was that in the agent handbook anywhere? She'd write that section up herself, if she made it.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the doors upon exhalation, flinging herself into the forest clearing, which was growing darker as evening fell. Thankful they'd let her still carry a firearm, she drew her gun without hesitation, her other hand clamping across her middle protectively. But she saw no one, nothing except…The closest vehicle of their caravan was on its side, a crimson spatter shining on the back door that hung open, and she gasped, whirling on the spot and keeping her gun aimed solidly in front of her.

A feminine cackle suddenly echoed around the clearing, and Darcy had never felt so hedged in, had never felt this level of fear during a mission or Chitauri attack or anything of the sort. Because Loki was right; she had to fear for two.

"Show yourself," she commanded, figuring some false bravado never hurt. Movement in the corner of her eye jerked Darcy's focus to one of the other vans, where screaming sounded. The doors opened, and one of her team, a recently-promoted girl whom Darcy had taken under her wing, emerged, SHIELD-issue windbreaker splattered with blood, even the SHIELD emblem rendered scarlet by the substance. It was a chilling sight.

"Agent Lewis," she sobbed, hands raised in blood-splashed supplication in front of her chest.

"What the hell happened?" Darcy spoke sharply, eyes scanning the surrounding area. "Where is everyone?"

The girl sobbed, continuing. "Please, we need the-" her speech was cut off by the crack of a gunshot, accompanying bullet hole appearing in her chest as she toppled lifeless to the side.

Darcy blinked once, twice, three times, numbing at the situation. A brilliant mind, eager to learn and please, a girl that reminded her of herself, gone, just like that, with a metallic click. Was that how she was going to die?

Soldiers appeared from the surrounding forest, guns levered at Darcy, who was now the only source of movement beyond them. Her gun was still raised, the shock having locked her muscles into the protective position, and she re-issued her command. "Whoever you are, and I know there is someone leading these buffoons, show yourself. I'm not being taken down by a faceless coward."

"Oh, but you are, darling," assured a too-sweet feminine voice, getting closer by the second. "You're human. You are quite literally being "taken down", as you so eloquently put it, by the faceless coward that is mortality, every second of every day. Which is why I am amazed at Loki's fascination. You are born, you live, you die, as does all your kind. How are you different?"

The speaker stepped from the forest, and Darcy was met with the sight of a tall, slender blonde woman, resembling whoever had been visible in their surveillance photos. She wore some sort of emerald green bustier, topping a short matching skirt. A wicked dagger was sheathed in a belt cinching her waist, thigh-high black boots completing the look.

She looked like a leprechaun-inspired hooker, missing only the ginger hair. Maybe Darcy could enlighten her on costume accuracy from the afterlife.

"But it is no matter. I am here only to speed along the course of nature, to free Loki from his obsession that blinds him to everything that truly matters."

Darcy had to keep her talking, had to do something. Thumbing off the safety of her gun, ashamed at the lapse of judgment that had kept it on, she raised the arm resting across her stomach to brace the hand training the weapon on the woman.

"You're masking a grudge against a puny mortal with a plot to destroy SHIELD and humankind?" Darcy's mocking tone echoed around the quiet clearing, her eyebrows raised as high as they'd go. "Why?"

"My motivations, if I cared to list them, could range from a shallow desire to have Loki by my side, to a quite-earnest wish to see Earth grovel at my feet," the villainess admitted, gesturing a graceful hand at her men, who lowered their weapons. Darcy then noticed all their eyes were glazed over, dulled by a faint red sheen. "And that goal is hardly a mask. You're merely a pinprick in my side along the way."

She seemed to notice Darcy eyeing the soldiers. "Yes, your kind make for great puppets, I will give you that. But enough talking; time for you to go, human girl, and make my wait worthwhile." With a clenching of the blonde's raised fist, Darcy's throat seemed to close in on itself, and her gun dropped to the dirt, hands moving to claw at her neck. A gurgling sounded from her, but nothing else, and the woman in front of her moved to stand but a pace away, a malignant gleam in her gray eyes.

Darcy moved one hand from her besieged windpipe to grapple at the woman, whose other hand caught hold of hers with no trouble. Her grip tightened, and Darcy's darkening vision watched her wrist snap in the blink of an eye. A faint beeping sounded from behind the mortal woman, but her oxygen-deprived thoughts couldn't make the connection.

A gleeful cackle sounded from the blonde, and her fist abruptly opened, sending a barely-conscious Darcy collapsing to the ground. She cried out at a sharp pain in her abdomen, her pregnancy protesting the bodily abuse, and clutched the broken wrist close to her body as she curled into a fetal position.

A searing pain shot into her right calf at a kick from the woman, who prowled in a circle around the downed agent. "Not even a challenge. I did not realize I would be literally killing two birds with one stone, either…" She crouched, an interested look on her face as she examined Darcy's swollen stomach. "Is it his? A half-breed on the way to sully his majestic bloodlines, hm? Lay claim to his legacy?" The woman's tone was starting to sound seriously unbalanced, but Darcy was no judge at the moment, trying to focus just on breathing.

She barely caught sight of the woman's fist raising before it struck across Darcy's face. A ring on the hand snagged on Darcy's skin, tearing flesh from cheek to temple, the force of the blow sending her entire body skittering a foot across the dirt. She swore she felt something tear inside her, and choked back a scream. "I asked you a question, mortal." A beeping in the distance was no louder, but repeating with quickening succession.

Darcy could scarcely see now, the head injury leaking blood down her brow and into one eye. Closed casket, her mind observed in a clinical tone, that's what it would be. The thought enraged her, and she lashed out with the last of her strength, right leg kicking at the otherworldly bitch. She got her square in the sternum, and Darcy choked out a laugh that was saturated with blood, as the woman recoiled with a shrill cry, backing away several paces.

Flopping back onto the ground, the protests of her wrecked wrist now just faint whimpers of her nerve system, Darcy prepared to let go, coughing weakly at the crimson fluid spilling from the corner of her lips. Her abdomen gave another series of painful throbs, a tear leaking from her eye at the implication, clearing some of the blood from her sight. A blast surrounded from nearby, several different voices rising in a single yell.

Her eyes cracked open but not seeing much through the bloody haze, Darcy watched the scene before her like a zombie. The woman's forces were bowled over temporarily by a wave of green energy, their gun's tat-tatting futilely straight into the sky with the momentum of being flung backwards.

The bright cerulean of Captain America's uniform swung into sight, the man himself a comforting sight to her dying eyes as he threw his shield with smashing precision at another pack of soldiers. She wanted to protest, wanted to explain they were under some sort of hypnosis, but she couldn't, could only listen as the Black Widow sprinted into sight, yelling that Bruce, Tony and Thor were in pursuit of the other forces.

The blonde woman, meanwhile, had risen to her feet with a bright grin on her face, arms opened in a welcoming gesture to Loki, who stalked towards the carnage with subdued movements. His hair was untamed, tousled by the heat of battle, and his eyes…They looked…menacing. It was too mild a word for the expression on his face, but it was all Darcy had, her thoughts growing cloudier by the second.

He faced the woman across the space of the battle-filled clearing, eyes narrowing in revulsion. "I should have killed you when I had the chance, Enchantress." He spat the title like he wanted it out and away from him.

"Loki, darling," the blonde witch crooned, strutting towards him, stepping over bodies like they were blades of grass. "I've gathered you forces, we can finally be together, can finally take this world and show what we are made of-"

"We are nothing." His voice was cold, but his breath seemed to catch as the words left his mouth, eyes landing on something. Darcy blinked in a futile attempt to clear her vision, realizing it was her he had caught sight of.

"What have you done, Amora?" His voice had shut down to barely a whisper, still somehow audible among the metallic clangs and yells of battle. He started skating around the battlefield, making his way towards Darcy, and the blonde tsked, shaking her head. "Don't you see, darling, I'm helping to clear your head! She is a distraction; I'm ever so glad I became aware of her presence, because now you can focus. She is done for, and her line, you do not need to worry."

Amora moved towards Loki, but he whipped towards her with an enraged snarl, grabbing her by the throat. "What have you done?!" The sorceress scrabbled at her own throat as helplessly as Darcy had, and Loki flung her with deadly force at the clearing's edge, where she smashed into a thick oak tree.

Rising hesitantly, the blonde pouted, blood dribbling from her mouth. "But…" She was cut off as another blast of green hit her soundly, smashing her through the oak's trunk, and several others, before she hit the ground further into the forest. Loki started to follow, but a bright yellow light flashed across the area, a noise like water bubbling filling the air. The woman's voice sounded loudly, indignant. "I see you do not understand, but in moments, when she has breathed her last, you will, and I will return for you!"

The remaining hypnotized forces of the woman were still fighting the captain and Black Widow; apparently her departure didn't release them, Darcy sadly noted. They would go down fighting for a cause forced upon them.

Agony had her shrieking a second later, with strength she didn't think she had remaining, as someone jarred her body. She heard her name uttered like an oath, hoarsely, the speaker sounding like their voice was clogged by tears. She figured she was as safe as she'd be before the end, succumbing to the wave of pain and letting everything go black.

It was not to be a sweet, quick release from life, her mind noted hazily, when she half-awoke what felt like only moments later. Blood spattered on the dirt ground beside her face as she lurched, croaking hoarsely in anguish. Someone was crouched over her, securing her face between their cold palms, pleading for her to look at them.

Her eyes rolled upward more involuntarily than by her command, but her gaze managed to catch Loki's eyes, burning with a frantic light that she'd never seen before. It was desperation, she realized, as his hands shakily smeared blood away from her eyes and smoothed back her hair from her face. He was emanating anxiety, murmuring her name over and over again like it would invoke a miracle.

At the sight of her eyes open, he leaned his forehead in to hers, murmuring a thanks to some other divine force, which she found humorous, in some corner of her mind. He pressed a kiss to her bloodied forehead, leaning back and carefully shifting his weight backwards, mindful of her mangled arm and swollen stomach. When his eyes moved further down her body, his brow furrowed, a fresh anguish rising in his eyes. She didn't want to know what he saw, a hand struggling to cover her abdomen protectively, but it didn't quite make it, flopping to her side again.

She wasn't sure how she was even conscious right now, but it didn't matter, nothing did. She'd failed Ian, failed SHIELD, failed her unborn child. She should've been an accountant for a glue company or something.

A croaky sob ripped from her lips just as another streak of agony tore through her stomach, sending her lurching to a near-sitting position with the momentum of her flinch. Loki caught her before she could topple back to the ground, murmuring something and placing his palm to her forehead. She felt something warm, comforting, and calmed marginally, before she caught sight of herself. Her torso itself seemed relatively unhurt, her shirt smeared with dirt where it stretched taut over her stomach; but her right forearm was swollen, ominous shades of red and purple painting her skin. It only got worse, as her eyes traveled downward. Her jeans were soaked with blood between the legs, the crimson splotches tainting the material all the way to her feet. She blinked several times, reality hitting, and she inched her eyes towards Loki's. "Just let me die," she whispered hoarsely. "I couldn't…my baby…"

One of his hands held her upright, the other moving from her forehead to grasp her chin firmly, keeping her eyes on him. "With or without your permission, you are going to live, Darcy Lewis."

Her face crumpled, a fresh bout of tears falling, and again she wondered how she was even still alive, much less conscious and talking. Then she noticed the warmth emanating from Loki's hand upon her back, and her tear-streaked face rose again, his face blurry as she scrutinized him. "What are you doing?"

"Forgive me," he murmured, before laying her flat on the ground again. She noticed the battle was still going, more of the Enchantress' forces having arrived, although Amora herself was still missing.

Before she knew it, Loki's shoulders were on hers with bruising force, though it would make no difference on her beaten body, and he was straddling her with the utmost caution. A green smoke started at his fingertips, rising to encompass her body, a burning sensation topping any other pain she felt at the moment. Gasping, she tried to fight Loki off, but he held on, eyes closing in concentration. She tried to summon a shriek of protest, failed, as the green smoke started to shimmer, seeming to sink into her skin. The burning overwhelmed her again, and her head fell back to the ground as she passed out.

When another bout of consciousness arrived, aided by the steady rainfall that had begun, she roused with a ragged inhalation, aware of a pressure on her legs and stomach, but a strange lack of pain. "Loki," she mumbled, the syllables slurring together and nearly unintelligible.

"Darcy?" A frantic voice sounded from nearby, one she recognized as Steve's. A raindrop fell in her eye annoyingly as she tried to crane her head around to spot him, and she gave up, squinting in the downpour.

"Don't crowd her," Loki's accent ground out, sounding pained, and he appeared above her as the pressure on her stomach decreased. "Darcy. How do you feel?"

Her eyelids flickered, and she tried a shrug, surprised when her injured arm didn't protest. Then the horror from earlier resurfaced. "Baby," she managed, trying to formulate a question. Loki half-smiled, and she noticed how exhausted he suddenly appeared. "The child you carry is fine."

She wanted to protest, wanted to assure him she knew something was wrong, that it had to be gone, that she was too far gone, but he waved a palm across her face gently, hushing her. His magic caressed her, carried with it a comforting sensation that encouraged her to drift off again, and she complied quickly, to her questions' dismay.

The other Avengers had finally approached, Steve's face tight with worry as he regarded the lone survivor of their tech vanguard, and his protege. Natasha was studying Loki intently, a strange sorrow in her features. As the pair stood silently above Loki, who was knelt in the dirt above Darcy, panting with exertion, the rest of the team arrived, halting as soon as they saw the desolation.

"What the hell, who knew northern Canada had this sort of population-" Tony Stark's joke cut off as he spotted them, he and Bruce Banner tentatively making their way over. Thor thudded to the ground mere paces away, calling Loki's name, but he stopped when he saw Darcy, his whole air overtaken by melancholy. The entire Avengers team formed a defensive circle around Loki and Darcy, but kept their distance.

"Brother-" Thor began, cutting off when Loki rose to his feet unsteadily, turning with sharp eyes to face the thunder god. "She will live," he assured everyone in the clearing, but his eyes abruptly lost focus, and he lurched again on his feet before crumpling where he stood, Thor rushing to catch the one he called brother.

It was Natasha who braved the bloody carnage of their vehicles, radioing in for a cleanup and extraction.

Darcy awoke two days later, to find herself in a SHIELD hospital bed, her hand being clutched for dear life by Ian. He hadn't left her bedside since she'd left the intensive care unit, she'd been assured, and that had made her smile. She couldn't remember much of the mission, or so she insisted, but was cheered by the news her pregnancy was progressing just fine. Impeccably, even, the baby appearing to be doing better than any expectations after Darcy's in-the-field antics, though the staff kept that from her. She would also never know the losses they had sustained that day; the deaths of her team and comrades was news no one was prepared to share with her in her condition, and a good time never arrived, the information instead being covered up with phony news of transfers and promotions.

She was to be kept under observation for at least a week, for reasons unknown to her and which the staff would absolutely not reveal. It was strange, but she welcomed the ability to sleep in, at least.

On a day when she'd shooed Ian away to get some lunch and a change of clothes, Darcy caught the sound of footsteps approaching in the corridor. Her baby chose that moment to kick, and she got the oddest hunch that it was Thor coming.

Indeed, the burly blonde man entered the hospital room, the doorway looking like that of a dollhouse as his breadth squeezed in. He looked uncharacteristically somber, though he brightened at Darcy's smile. "Hey, big guy!" She said, arms opening for a hug. His eyes darted side to side for an odd moment, but he complied, squeezing her gently.

"I am glad to see you well, Darcy," He murmured, Mjölnir out of sight as he pulled back and paced the small room. "Jane would visit, but she is detained in London on science matters." It seemed like there was something on his mind, but Darcy couldn't imagine what it could be. She had a request for him, though.

"Thor?" He stopped his limited pacing and turned to her, looking like a golden retriever ready for a treat. She chuckled, lacing her fingers together nervously. "Have you seen Loki?" Thor's face fell momentarily, but he recovered quickly, nodding succinctly. "He finished matters with SHIELD recently, and is preparing to leave the facility."

"Could you…Could he visit me?" Her eyes roamed the room, and she bit her lip, hoping no one was listening. Thor gave a her a knowing smile, and bowed before heading for the door, assuring her he would try.

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Jane Foster entered the hospital at a brisk pace, her short stature not hindering her strides in the slightest. She looked as she had all those years ago, still, a fact that probably contributed to the fact Darcy hadn't seen her face to face in years, though the latter swore she wasn't bitter at aging.

There was a thick folder tucked under Jane's arm, and she stopped only for a moment at the reception area to request Darcy's room number, taking the stairs and leaving the elevator for a crowd of wheelchair-ridden patients waiting in line. Reaching the fourth floor's landing, she paused, something prickling at the edge of her consciousness.

Thor had explained all those years ago that while she wouldn't age or become sick, neither would she gain magical powers or the like from becoming Aesir. Still, she got weird feelings now and again, and maybe it was just superstition talking, but…She peered in the window of the door leading to the fourth floor and saw nothing odd, shrugging and continuing up to the fifth, where Darcy was. It was a long-term care unit, depressing as hell, as Darcy would likely describe it, and she was saddened anew at the fact that her lively friend was essentially confined to these halls. Nearly everyone whose room she passed was elderly, and she sighed, keeping her eyes downcast for the last few paces to Darcy's room.

Rapping on the door, she heard familiar tones tiredly call out to enter, and slipped inside, folder pressed to her chest and a smile spreading across her face at the sight of her friend. Darcy looked better than she had imagined, her full mahogany mane still looking much the same except for a few gray streaks. She did seem drastically thinner, though, as she held her arms out for a hug from Jane, who stepped forward and set the folder aside, embracing her friend for the length of several hugs. She had a lot to catch up on.

Pulling back, Darcy scooted to the side, patting the space beside her for Jane to hop up. She did so while pulling the folder towards her, and took a deep breath, angling a brow upwards in Darcy's direction. "You sure about this?"

Her friend was fiddling with a hank of hair, a sure sign of uncertainty, but she nodded, jaw set. "Show me."

Jane opened the full folder, thumbing through a combination of papers and pictures. "I'm not sure what you're suddenly looking for, but he fell off the grid a few years back. Was last seen in Romania, helping SHIELD with a mission. Um…He's, uh, actually thought to be…" She flashed a report at Darcy, the summary detailing a mission to clear out a cell of Romanian thugs said to be pro-neo-HYDRA. The bottom line described a massive explosion that had blown up their absinthe factory and all inside at the time, including several fledgling agents, and Loki. Thor had pursued a lead outside, leaving him clear of the blast.

Darcy was quiet for a moment, blue eyes undimmed by age or sickness, Jane noted as her friend skimmed the paperwork. Then Darcy's hand, IV intact, reached past Jane to retrieve a shiny stock photo hidden behind the report, staring at the shot intently. It was Loki, in all his traditional trenchcoated glory, striding alongside Thor on a mission. "It was a ruse," she declared with utter certainty, "An illusion. He faked his death, again, for some reason."

The "again" was comical to Jane, but she didn't otherwise question her friend's statement. Darcy had come to…know things, through the years. The bedridden woman set the image aside after a moment, eyes moving to look towards the window. "I think he's been in contact with Alice."

Jane, who had been filled in on everything Loki at the time of Alice's birth, bit her lip in consternation. It had been vital to keep the child's minor...embellishments, for lack of a better word, secret, and so only she and a few of the Avengers had been told. Given the god of mischief's penchant for dramatic effect and flair, it couldn't be good if Alice were being dragged into whatever he was up to now, if he was indeed back from the dead.

"I also think he's been here. In my room. Or someone has, and in that case, we have a bigger problem." Darcy was all business, her tone crisp and strong, the agent of years ago shining through. Jane allowed herself a moment of pride at the old Darcy resurfacing, before gathering all the paperwork together again. "What do you want to do?"

"Get me out of this bed," was her friend's determined reply, and Jane's brows rose. "If I'm going to go, I'm going to go making sure my family is safe. Something's up, Jane." Darcy cut off, tensing as something rumbled within the building, below them. An alarm sounded through the room, a small red light flashing above the doorway. An automated voice cut through the intercom system, explaining the hospital was currently in lockdown, and for patients and staff to find a safe place and await further instruction. The two women's eyes met for a long moment, the alarm continuing to blare persistently.

"Can't get a day's peace, even dying and bedridden," Darcy joked blandly, taking a casual sip of water from a glass at her bedside. She looked remarkably unruffled for being in a locked down hospital with sirens screaming.

Jane rose, heading to the door to lock it, but someone skidded down the hallway and stopped with it pulled half-closed. Anna dashed inside, stopping short at the sight of Jane for a moment, before continuing undeterred to Darcy's side. "Mom! Thank God you're okay!" she cried, latching onto Darcy.

Darcy exhaled loudly in relief that at least one daughter wasn't running loose in the compromised halls, and Jane's expression clouded as the former spoke. "What is it, Anna?"

"They're saying that Amund, Birger's assistant, attacked a nurse, and then Alice, before he like, escaped," Anna explained, moving to the blinds and twitching them aside to scan the parking lot. "He's crazy or something, and to think that he was treating you!"

Jane looked to Darcy for explanation, whose gaze was calculating as she fisted the bedclothes in her hands. "Assistant to my Norwegian specialist," she muttered, distracted. "Got hurt in a hit and run last week, I heard, that Alice helped out with."

"There was no hit and run. It was an illusion." A new voice joined the conversation with grim determination, and three pairs of eyes looked to the doorway to see Alice, clad in a thin t-shirt and jeans, her forearm bandaged. "And it wasn't Amund who attacked me."

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He'd finally come, in the middle of night, probably wishing to use her being asleep as an excuse to not have faced her. But Darcy had been sleeping fitfully that night, the baby kicking almost frantically and making it difficult to sleep. She'd already called in a nurse, who assured her everything was fine. Sighing as she turned over for the fifth time in as many minutes, Darcy's breath caught at the sight of Loki, who had appeared in a corner of the room.

He looked sick and drained, hollows under his eyes and a stiffness to his movements rendering him a shadow of his usual impressive presence. Something flickered at the edge of her memory, an image of green light feeding from him into her.

She breathed out his name, wondering if he was imaginary, because things couldn't really get any more bizarre lately, but if he was imaginary, he was sentient, because he bowed his head at the sound of her voice. Imaginary Loki wouldn't be broody and quiet, real Loki was that enough for several people.

She said his name once more, louder, and he seemed to rouse, head raising to look her over.

"Darcy." When he said her name, it was tinged with amazement, and he moved closer tentatively, a hand reached up as if he wanted to touch her.

"I won't break," she assured him, her own hand stretched out towards him. It was dressed in a light cast, the doctors saying it had only been lightly sprained, but that couldn't have been right. Still, the meager dressing appeared to be enough for whatever the current status of her appendage was, and she felt no pain.

Loki's cool fingers met hers with a feather-light touch before he drew away, as if he were convincing himself she was real.

"I need you to explain," she said into the silence, trying to get straight to the point. "Who was she? And what did you do to us?"

"An old enemy, who thinks herself a friend," Loki muttered distractedly, the admission coming so easily that she knew he wasn't focused on it. The façade of indifference now made sense, as well, if what the woman had claimed was true, that she'd been watching.

"Your child does equally well?" He had switched tracks so fast she blinked for a second. "Yes, the baby's fine. They told me it's a girl."

He smiled widely at that and turned back to her, black hair gleaming in the dim nighttime light of the room. "That pleases you?"

"Well, it's someone to pass fashion sense on to," she mused, shifting to get more comfortable, "if nothing else."

"I'm sure she will have several attractive qualities, as does her mother," Loki assured her, moving closer to ghost a hand along the railing of her bed. "Her father will be proud." He said the last bit to the wall, head turned as if he wanted to get the assurance out, but found no pleasure in it.

"You didn't answer me." Darcy's tone was sharp again, combative. "On that mission. I thought I'd lost her."

His emerald gaze finally focused on hers, intently. "I do not wish to distress you anew." Her mute response was a raised eyebrow.

"I…Can you not rest assured that both of you are well?" He seemed to flail verbally, a hand clenching at his side as he frowned.

"I feel like a car that was not only fixed, but souped up," Darcy said, folding her arms across her chest.

"I have never had a firm grasp of healing magic, and it took an extreme amount of energy and ability to save you," he admitted, looking ready to flee. "And her." The last was added as a hushed whisper.

"And?" Darcy prompted, knowing she wouldn't see him again and wanting answers while they were within reach.

"Healing of that extent, it starts to tap into the magic user's life force," he muttered uncomfortably, and she had to try not to laugh, he looked so damn awkward. "Some other, ah, traits may find their way to the recipient."

"You gave me and my baby superpowers?" Darcy's tone was incredulous, and Loki flinched, moving backward as if anticipating a blow. "Cool." Her uninjured hand rubbed at her stomach as she absorbed the implications.

The trickster straightened again to his full height, managing a half-smile. "Trust Darcy Lewis to have the most unexpected of reactions."

"That's me," she agreed, tapping a finger to her chin. "But we'll be fine, right? No unhealthy side effects, am I going to go to open my car door and rip it off, or?"

"You'll hardly notice anything," Loki assured her. "Your senses may be slightly enhanced, nothing more. It was a brief exchange, no need to worry." His eyes shifted away from hers as he finished speaking, and she wrinkled her nose, evaluating the credibility of his statement. There was nothing she could do until something on the level of boiling water by looking at it occurred, and by then, he would be long gone. "Okay."

His head whipped towards her at the simple utterance of acceptance of the situation, but she only shrugged complacently. She started to shuffle further into her covers, hoping sleep would come more easily with her curiosity satisfied.

"Thank you, Loki," she whispered, the words as heartfelt as anything she'd ever said. A shift of air announced him, leaning over her and pressing a tender kiss to her cheek, an inch from her lips. How chivalrous of him to not overstep his boundaries.

"Take care of yourself, and her, Darcy Lewis." Another breath of air signaled his exit, and she sighed, rubbing at her stomach unconsciously as she dozed off.


	11. Chapter 11

"I've only known you for a few days, not even by this face, and what you've told me amounts to about the back cover of a book. Meanwhile, what I've seen could fill a psychiatrist's entire ledger in one sitting. Why should I put my mother's life in your hands?" Alice's indignant tone made Loki's human form smile briefly, as did the reference to books, an outdated thing of the past.

He was still closeted away in a room of the hospital, choosing to adhere to medical advice in the face of his hilarious "injury" after the accident last week, and it was perhaps a good thing, because he could sense something. Impending danger prickled at his awareness, his magic twitching inside him like a hound sniffing the air.

"Because it has been before, many times. Yours as well, Alice Lewis." He spoke shortly, with eyes downcast, hands outstretched as he eyed his own palms from his seated position on the bed. Yes, these hands knew Darcy Lewis, infinitely better than that foolish ex-husband, probably better than anyone she'd ever known, in a manner of speaking. But it would likely only frighten the young woman in front of him to tell her he'd touched her mother's life force before, and that was the last thing he needed right now. He would abstain, and hope the intelligent girl could gather his good intentions.

"I really hope I didn't help a completely insane dude," Alice grumbled to herself, raking a hand through her hair fretfully as she paced within his hospital room. She was frank, but open-minded, and he knew she would do anything for her mother. "How do you know something's coming, again? A disturbance in the force, Obi-wan Kenobi?"

He actually understood the reference. Too much time around the girl's mother. But as he opened his mouth to reply, a rumble shook the entire floor, an alarm starting to blare, and he reached out a hand to clasp Alice's shoulder. The contact sent a jerk through the girl's body, and she backed away, glittering green eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What the hell was-"

"Please," he ground out. "Your mother is in grave danger, and this will be much faster explanation. She and I had a similar connection, once." He gingerly reached towards her again, intending to channel some of his thoughts to Alice, to explain what was happening and had happened and what she had to do. She swallowed, allowing him to grip her leather-clad shoulder, and he smiled briefly at her choice of wardrobe. Maybe his magic had been a little too strong, all those years ago, but when he thought of the girl in front of him or her mother no longer among the living, the little nuances were inconsequential.

A moment later, Alice swayed on her feet, eyes shut, and his other hand rose to steady her by the other shoulder, but her hand rose to bat him away. "I'm fine, just do whatever you came here to do." With that, she was off running, headed for the next floor.

Loki gave her a moment's head start before slipping out of his room as well, only to be confronted with Alice's back, who was facing several hospital security men, their eyes suspiciously glazed over.

"Officers, I-" Darcy's daughter began in a baffled tone, hands raised, before they were moving forward, batting her out of the way and heading for Loki. The last one in the procession paused, head tilted almost like it was scenting the air.

"Magic," it muttered, the voice not its own. "The girl." Alice's brow cinched, and she only had time to raise a forearm before the man was launching himself at her, pulling a nasty-looking dagger from seemingly nowhere. It definitely wasn't standard issue, the handle looking like blackened wood etched with some sort of runes.

She took the time to notice, since the blade in question was raking down her forearm with brutal force, rending straight through her leather sleeve. Gasping with pain, Alice twisted within the man's grasp, pivoting her arm away from the blade to prevent further damage. She had just inched a booted foot under his knee to trip him up, when her bracelet flashed at her sleeve's end, momentarily blinding both of them. Then something unseen flung them apart, sending Alice landing on her butt on the tiled floor, and the not-a-policeman crumpling against a nearby crash cart. He didn't move again.

Feeling like she was a in a horror movie and wondering where everyone on this floor was, simultaneously fearing the answer, Alice scrambled to her feet. She swung around, met with the sight of not-Amund fending off the remaining three officers. Their eyes were so blank and creepy, and she could only watch, pressing a hand to her bloodied arm as he wielded a dagger with deadly skill, jamming it into the throat of a man approaching him from behind, and simultaneously laying one flat with a sweep of a leg across the back of a knee.

Same move she'd tried, Alice thought, eyes squinting, and a chill ran down her spine. She'd trained in some different forms of martial arts over the years, he probably had too, whoever he was. The last man he was already outmaneuvering, getting him into a headlock that led to a broken neck on the policeman's part. Alice muffled a sob, raising the back of her now-bloodied hand to her mouth. She'd never really seen a man killed, and not-Amund raised his head at the sound she made, expression apologetic and somber.

He moved towards her, bloodied hands raised in supplication. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Alice." His gaze moved to her forearm, eyes narrowing. "You had your bracelet on?" He breathed, almost to himself, and she nodded, slipping off her jacket to evaluate the damage.

He was instantly at her side, and she jerked back reflexively, but he only took her arm in his hands, muttering something quietly as his fingers traced her wound. Nothing happened, and his brow furrowed further as he repeated the gesture. "This usually works…"

"Something wrong? Besides my arm bleeding out, you know…" Alice started quietly, anxious to make it to Darcy's room before more brainwashed policemen showed up. What if they were already on that floor? She tugged at his grip on her arm, but he kept a firm grip. "Amund…"

"You may call me Loki," he murmured distractedly, and the name froze her, giving him time to summon bandaging for her arm, all he could do until he could examine the wound more extensively. A repetitive crashing she'd been hearing for a few moments was now sounding much, much closer, and the two of them looked up in time to see something huge step into view at the end of the hall.

"Loki" or Loco or whoever, let out some unfamiliar curse, pushing her behind him in the direction of the stairwell. "Get to your mother, now."

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The ear-splitting screech of a door in agony as it was ripped from its hinges echoed along the corridor, now mercifully empty of patients. The man whom Birger had introduced as his assistant was now flattened against the wall around a corner, breathing heavily and cursing himself when a spare breath of air presented itself. Risking a glance around the corner, his brow crinkled as he spotted the beast in question moving into view, simultaneously rounding a corner at the opposite end of the hall.

Retracting himself, Loki took a deep breath, deciding excess expenditure of energy was inadvisable at this point. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, a fluid language whispering from lips covered in blood. This form was far too fragile, but the damage should repair itself rapidly, he told himself, as the image of Amund the clumsy assistant rippled away, replaced by his usual self. He caught sight of himself in the glass window of a door across the passageway, and grimaced. Several years in a magically-induced mortal state had left him in bad need of a shave and haircut, and the human clothing his alter ego had sported looked ridiculous on him now. He quickly wrenched off the bandaging that his mortal image had sported after his "accident", flinging the material to the ground.

Any further placation of vanity would have to wait, for he could hear the lumbering gait of Amora's henchman pounding down the adjoining hallway. Summoning a dagger, he sighed. It would have been a better idea to remain dead and mortal, paradoxical as that sounded, but his life had been much simpler when he was a dumb medical assistant helping heal people, and ease the passing of others. The love of his miserable existence had been one of the latter, until recently; his selfishness, he knew, had caused all of this; his infiltration of her medical staff, aiding his refusal to let nature take its course.

Darcy's heart had stopped prematurely while he was in the room, and he knew then that he could not let her go, no matter what her pitiful arguments for a natural death were. He shuddered to think what would have happened had he not been there, had Birger not stepped back and permitted him use of his powers. Thankfully, he'd begun practicing healing magic more intensely after the attack on Darcy during her pregnancy, and decades later, it had paid off, though he wished he had not had need of it.

Another squeal of metal being wrenched out of shape by alien hands sounded, just as Loki rounded the corner, flipping his dagger to his prominent hand covertly. He had expected to see the executioner, Amora's right-hand man and a far more efficient killer, but he surmised Darcy would already be dead if that had been the case. She was, however, still nearby, as a warm sensation his magic picked up on showed, and had to be protected. He could only hope their – that is, her daughter, Alice, had heeded his warnings, and was getting her out of here.

Alice. That wound. As soon as she was out of sight, he'd spotted the discarded weapon Amora's mortal henchman had used on her, and his blood had ran cold. Dark magic seeped from the blade, visible to his eyes only, a macabre aura that assured him Alice was far from safe, as was Darcy.

"Loki," a feminine voice suddenly crooned from the lips of the monster in front of him; it was some sort of troll, about ten feet tall, nearly doubled over in the confines of the hospital hallway, and the verbalization was hilariously contrasting. "Come now, stand aside and let me put her out of her misery. If I'd known she'd been suffering this long, I would have come long ago. And the child, she is an abomination." The troll let out a tsk of disgust to accent its words.

"Amora," he gritted through his teeth, feigning nonchalance with arms folded across his chest, leaning against the wall in a show of just how unbothered he was. "You go to such extreme lengths to harm one mortal. Why squash insects, to prove you can hunt dragons?"

Amora, through the guise of the troll, cocked her head to the side, apparently lacking a proper reply.

Because there wasn't one, Loki thought bitterly. She was burning with jealousy, a pathetic emotion that should have been exclusive to mortals only, driven to extreme lengths to show her sordid affections for Loki, nursed for centuries. He was just repulsed. But could he blame her? He'd harbored his own jealousies; mainly those concerning the bumbling idiot Darcy had chosen over him, for a "safe" life, one where they could reasonably hope to expire together of old age.

And then there was Alice. Though she was tinged with his powers, his essence, she was not his, a cruel fact that served to burn him every time he looked upon Darcy's firstborn. He nevertheless had been unable to stay away, bestowing a bracelet upon her when he followed her to Iceland, as a safety measure should anything go awry when she was so far from home. The poor girl thought she'd just found it in a market. He should have known Darcy would recognize it, should have put a glamour upon it to render it visible only as some cheap bangle, but at the same time…Some part of him had wanted her to recognize his handiwork, even if the implications were not so honorable.

The girl had even helped him, already. The "traffic accident" he'd engineered afterwards was merely a glamour, to cover an attack by one of Amora's scouts. A disgruntled former warrior from Asgard whom she was fond of had been sent to follow Loki's trail, and he had packed quite a punch. Loki was barely able to dispatch him after gathering the small bit of information he held, and simultaneously mask the entire incident to the watching crowd of civilians. An impressive feat of magic, not that any of them could now remember, or appreciate the level of skill it had taken. Darcy's daughter, however, was unable to be spelled, and she had apparently shoved what she had seen into a dark recess of her mind, instead moving forward to help him into the hospital afterwards. Unsettling, unpredictable girl, just like Darcy.

"Your pathetic attachment baffles me," Amora's troll finally spat, rousing him from his thoughts. To enunciate, it smashed an oversized fist into an abandoned gurney and sent it skittering towards him. "I cannot believe she lives, but then again, the cockroaches of this realm prove very difficult to kill, do they not?"

She had thrown his own words back at him, and Loki bowed his head, propelling himself from the wall. "It is of no consequence. Darcy Lewis deserves your animosity no more than any other mortal. Do you plan to destroy the entire race?"

The troll seemed to cackle, and he would not have been surprised to see it rubs its hands together in undisguised glee. So that was her intent; his voice lowered, tone growing icier with each word. "Leave, now, and I will spare your minion and not leave its corpse upon your doorstep as a gift. Do not show yourself in Midgard again."

The blond sorceress had Darcy Lewis to thank, ironically, for the fact that Loki even considered sparing the wretch's life, after all she had done to Darcy. His sense of restraint had been well-honed through these past years, the mortal's influence more invasive than Darcy herself would ever know.

"I think not, Loki. It is time we finish your work of so many years ago, time to rid the nine realms of the stain of humanity and give another race a chance to prosper. Lingering, disgusting affection for that woman weakens you and your resolve. And if you are not with me, you are against me." Almost before her sentence was complete, the troll was lunging at him, unafraid with one puny dagger facing its tough hide. The brainwashed state of its mind probably helped, too.

"Your belated realization of my loyalties belies your true lack of intellect, Amora." Loki swung to the side, narrowly avoiding a fist that smashed into the spot he'd just held, whirling in place and slicing at the vulnerable skin at the crook of its elbow and forearm. The beast roared in pain, catching him off-guard with a backhanded blow that sent him crashing into a wall.

Straightening, Loki looked down at himself, nose wrinkling in dismay at the blood spattered across the dress shirt and slacks he'd worn as Amund. He was already feeling the drag of exhaustion, but decided to forgo the rationing of energy. He waved a hand across himself, his armor taking its rightful place, complete with another dagger tucked into his leather gauntlet. Retrieving it just as the creature charged again, Loki ducked under it, managing dual slices to its abdomen as he slid out from beneath it.

"You never fought for humans before," her voice grated out from the creature's lungs even as it panted, murky blood dripping to the linoleum at its feet. "Their lives are raindrops, nothing of consequence-" The creature lunged forward unsteadily, flinging a wheeled cart in Loki's direction, which he dodged, idly wondering when the mortal police would choose to show up, as alarms were still blaring. More likely, it would be a cell of SHIELD, and he didn't want to be there when they did arrive.

"My motives are none of your business, Amora. I will take great pleasure in ending your worries about my concern for mortals, when the time comes." Using the discarded cart as leverage, Loki managed a leap against the far wall, pushing off from that to land on the creature's shoulders, driving his twin daggers into the base of its skull. With a gurgling groan, the creature dropped, and Loki pulled his blades free with a sickening grate of metal on bone.

Straightening and sweeping the premises with a tendril of magic, he gathered there were no other threats immediately at hand, and his eyes raised to the ceiling, contemplating a patient on the floor above. Hopefully, she would not bring the entire building down herself, with her reaction to seeing him.

The elevator was down, he noted with satisfaction, barring the ascension of any more police or SHIELD to the fifth floor. That also meant those on the fifth floor could not descend, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it, Loki decided. The stairwell was also damaged, likely to cut off escape, the fourth floor landing being the new first floor, Loki noted, his long stride eating up three steps at a time. When he reached the fifth floor, a foreign feeling of apprehension hit, and he hesitated before the twin doors that swung open into that wing of the hospital.

When he did step through, he was met with a gun held between his eyes, though it had to aim fairly steeply upwards, held as it was by the diminutive Jane Foster. He stifled a chuckle at the sight of the peace-loving scientist brandishing a weapon, for it signified the situation was grave indeed.

There was a girl peeking out from behind her, the younger daughter, Anna, her curls and eyes very reminiscent of her father.

"Where is Darcy?" He asked the barrel of the gun, getting straight to the point. It didn't lower, though he was obviously not bothered by its presence, and he held back a sigh of impatience.

"So you are alive," Jane muttered in acknowledgement, eyes narrowing as she looked him up and down. Risking a glance behind her, she told Anna to step back, and when the girl complied, Jane gestured with the gun, finally lowering it and leading Loki down the hallway. He passed a room of another invalid, an elderly man with a nurse by his side; they both jumped at the sight of movement in the corridor. It was comforting to know the hapless mortals still had medical staff on this floor, Loki thought, and then shook his head at the sappy sentiment, itching to break into a run and reach Darcy's room himself. Except it looked as though they'd already passed it. Someone had had the presence of mind to move her from the sitting-duck station of her well-known room.

At last, Jane swung towards one of the last doors in the hall, taking a deep breath before letting herself inside, announcing her arrival with a murmur. Loki looked behind him, to see Anna trailing along wide-eyed, and his eyes flicked to a light on the ceiling, still blaring the alarm. He silence it with a flick of his hand, and Anna heaved a dramatically relieved sigh, though she probably didn't know what had just happened. He sent the young woman what he hoped was a warm smile, before a twitch of his hand opened the door.

He stepped inside, seeing what looked like a large break room attached to a supply room, lockers forming several aisles on one side. Alice was across the room and he breathed a sigh of relief at seeing her upright. She was leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest in a show of nonchalance, but he immediately noted her pallor and minute tremors, even if no one else had yet. The bandage was already darkening with blood that looked just a little too dark.

As for Darcy…He didn't see her, and he frowned, his trench coat flapping at his ankles as he swung around, looking for her. Anna entered quietly behind him, jerking a thumb at a side door, before she joined Jane at the single window in the room. Jane was now on a phone, craning to look out the window, and he caught the word "Thor" in her speech. The woman had been trained as an agent herself years before, or so he'd heard, and he'd leave the security details to her for a moment.

He stepped into the side room, dimly lit by a lone window letting in daylight. He recognized the woman with her back to him at once, her height and bearing giving her away, even if her physique was heavily affected by the long, wasting illness. Though she was now rendered almost alarmingly slender, her bearing was still that of a queen, of someone in charge, as Darcy Lewis turned to face him. A far heavier weight than illness was now on her shoulders, but she looked as lively as she ever had, much more so than when he had tended to her in another form. He wanted to celebrate that small success, but instead appraised her form, trying to evaluate how much of her strength was a charade.

He took one hesitant step forward, and her voice cut through the air in a no-nonsense tone. "Take one more step and I'll tase you." She flicked on a light switch within her reach, and he saw she was as fully dressed as she'd been in weeks, brown knee-high boots pulled on over tight black jeans, a thick brown sweater layered over a dark green Henley top. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, and though the sickness had chiseled away at her, the lines on her face were minimal, and her sapphire eyes bright. She was brandishing a modern-day equivalent of the non-deadly weapon she'd always preferred. "You look terrible. And get the hell out of Alice's head before you fry her like you did Erik Selvig."

There was to be no hug-filled, joyous reunion, he had known that, but the outright hostility was a little shocking. "I…The contact with Alice was but momentary, to apprise her of the situation. If anyone should know, it is her."

"No, if anyone should know, it's Jane, who's been Aesir-fortified and trained with SHIELD, or it's Thor, a hulking god who can take anything, or it's any other agent of anywhere. Anybody else. The FBI, local police, I don't give a damn. You don't just fake your death again like it's a game, but it is to you, isn't it? And to reappear when you feel like it, to move us all like we are pawns on your chessboard because we are mortal and know no better? You don't just lay the burden of your secrets upon my daughter, Loki, because you feel some sort of bond through her origins. You don't just take it upon yourself to force me to live." She coughed then, a wet cough that was likely involuntary, though it supported her words, and he forced himself not to check if there was now crimson on the sleeve she muffled it with. She was the one person whose reprimands hit him at his core. "You're as selfish as ever, thinking you know best and acting accordingly. Now that bitch is onto me again, and I have a family to think of. I'm assuming you have a plan, and I have somewhere to be, so we'd better get going. You can explain on the way."

She swept past him, and he had never been so glad to be sassed so completely, and to his face.


	12. Chapter 12

Darcy was running, frantically, in no particular direction other than away. The forest was cloaked in darkness, branches snapping into her face and barring her way at every turn, but it didn't matter, all that was important was escape. Avoidance of the thing behind her. She could hear it, carving its own path through the brush and woodwork, at a faster pace than her. Screams echoed through the trees, screams she somehow instinctively knew were Anna's, Alice's, Jane's…

Just as she tried to focus, to gauge how far her foe was behind her, she lost her footing on the uneven ground. She tumbled gracelessly to the ground in a clearing of the forest, the twigs and needles that carpeted it digging into her hands and knees with the impact.

A sob escaped her lips, when she suddenly spotted an arm, limply splayed across the ground a few feet in front of her, the rest of the body concealed by a thick oak and its root network. She didn't have to see any more; the skin she could see was deathly pale, and moonlight had found a chink in the canopy above, illuminating a brass brace across the forearm etched with a sigil she could draw with her eyes closed.

Nevertheless dragging herself forward to forage for some sign, any sign of life, for he lied, that was what he did, he lied and tricked, Darcy managed a few feet forward, no longer concerned with escape. There was nothing left, nothing worth it, not if he was gone-

A magical shove, tangible and yet not, sent her reeling forward, within reach of Loki's prostrate form. Grasping at the limb closest to her, she choked out another sob, her movements becoming frantic as she sought a pulse, something, anything, finding nothing. And then a soft laugh sounded behind her, petrifying in its lyrical chime. She knew when she turned, she would be dead, so she settled for shuffling closer to Loki's fallen body, tugging his head into her lap. Wrapping her hands with the thick ebony strands of his hair, she leaned to press a kiss to his chilled forehead.

Footsteps crunched on the mulch behind her, coming to a stop a hairsbreadth away. She could hear the swing of death's scythe, and then-

Darcy was snapping awake, head shooting up from its propped position against her hand. It took a minute, but then she recognized the plush interior of an expensive train cabin she was settled in. Apparently the high-end décor and seat cushions were not enough to lull her into a sound, peaceful sleep, she thought with irritation, shifting herself in the seat and pulling her legs underneath her. A tear had escaped one eye, threatening to ruin the makeup she'd painstakingly applied on the run earlier, and she dashed it away, subtly, she hoped. Her face looked bad enough on a good day, now. Adjusting her sweater's collar around her, she reached for her neckline, retrieving her now decades-old necklace and running the familiar chain through her fingers, trying to breathe. The gems warmed at her touch, helping immensely.

She and Loki had split apart from the others, as she was Amora's aim, and a couple calls had sent the girls straight via airlift to SHIELD headquarters in New York. They were accompanied by Jane, and Thor would join them at some point on the journey as well. Darcy had been hospitalized in New Mexico, of all places, because the southern climate seemed helpful to her doctors. Luckily, trains moved much quicker these days, enabling her daughters' and ex-husband's commutes to New York for school and work.

Alice's condition was worsening, and time was of the essence, as a result of the black magic-soaked blade's work. She'd been led away, protesting loudly at leaving Darcy, but the sheen of sweat on her forehead and her alabaster complexion was a dead giveaway. Loki had confirmed her story, and her blackening bandage was evidence enough that she nursed no ordinary wound, but he seemed strangely hesitant to entrust her care to SHIELD. He'd laid a hand across her forehead, murmuring a minor healing spell that would keep her comfortable through the journey, and Darcy didn't know what to make of them interacting face-to-face. It was cute, him being fatherly, she'd noted, before focusing fiercely on the train schedule she'd pulled up on her phone.

SHIELD would do what they could in the way of security, and they had several magic practitioners on payroll who could help with Alice's worsening condition. Darcy's own state was not exactly sprightly either, her coughs increasing in force and occurrence as time passed. Worry for her daughters did nothing to aid her body in subduing the sickness.

Movement caught her eye as the nightmare's hold ebbed away, and she closed her eyes in dread, staunching any further tear leakage and remembering the company she had in the cabin. Prying her lids open again, she darted a glance to the seat across hers. She'd shown her hand, lost this round, noticing his eyes intent on her face. "Like what you see?"

"Quite. I noticed you still wear it."

"Was that before you were pretending to be my Norwegian doctor, during, or now?"

"Darcy."

"What? It helps me think. And stuff. It's like an anti-Alzheimer's charm." Her mouth running ahead of her mind, she stopped to grimace at that implication. Old age, senility. Maybe she was getting off scott-free.

"It clearly does not help you enough, if the nightmares are any indication." His voice was clinical, as if observing the weather, and her hand clenched around the necklace, the other clutching at her seat's armrest. "What are you talking about?"

He carried on, ignoring her question. "I'm afraid they may be a side effect of my magic. They seem to be more frequent, added with what I saw as your, ah, physician's assistant…"

She scowled at him, pulling her hair out of its bun and running her hands through its strands, wrinkling her nose at the gray streaks she found. He himself had cleaned up when they'd left the hospital, and was now looking as impeccable as ever after a magical hairtrim and shave. She would admit to harboring resent at that. "Bet it was difficult to play a bumbling mortal lacking any motor skill finesse at all." She spoke dryly, focus on her hair, and he raised his brows, head tilting to the side in confirmation, still waiting for her to elaborate.

After a few minutes of silence, interrupted only by rain pelting the window, she spoke again, quietly. He'd only persist with his questions, and it couldn't hurt to have him in the loop. "At first it was only little things, while I was conscious, knowing for sure it would rain and when, knowing SHIELD's elevator was down beforehand and instinctively taking the stairs…" She looked up, blue eyes dulled with resignation. "Now it's in my subconscious, and no amount of herbal tea or sleep medication seems to help. In nearly every dream I'm…chased through a dark forest. Sometimes there's fire, my family screaming…Jane screaming...death." She choked over the last word, clearing her throat and shoving her necklace back under her henley's neckline.

His emerald gaze shot to the carpeted floor, as if he was weighed down himself by a burden he'd unknowingly laid upon her.

Darcy switched topics abruptly, tired of the conversations that turned to guilt inducement, which covered anything she could bring up to him at this moment.

"Tell me again about Amora," she sighed, pressing her face to the glass that revealed a night landscape whizzing by. "My old lady memory needs the reinforcement."

"Do not speak of yourself in such a manner," Loki chastised gently, leather coat creaking as he shifted, his eyes searching the darkness out his own window. "You remain far sharper and more spirited than anyone of my acquaintance."

"You must have corpses for company," Darcy joked humorlessly, her bitter laugh inducing another cough. "Uh, can you do anything for…?" She gestured at her chest and throat, trying to act casual.

Loki was on his feet at once, moving to her side and kneeling in front of her. "Your…Your sickness, it proliferated to such an extent before I was in your presence. If I had known…"

She fought for his words to not affect her, because she had prepared for this, hadn't she? For it to end in the previously-diagnosed fashion. Her will was made, funeral paperwork signed, for goodness' sake. And then along came unfinished business, partly the Amora problem, partly the large chunk of her life labeled Loki Stuff, a mental box she hadn't opened in years. She was torn between regret at leaving him and a distinct lack of regret; after all, she didn't know if she'd have her daughters, had she chosen Loki. And the wouldn't have had the illusion of safety they'd had, at least until now, when they were adults.

Darcy came back to herself with a shake of her head, something niggling at the back of her mind. "How did you happen to infiltrate the ranks of SHIELD-payroll doctors?"

When Loki placed a chilled hand flat against her collar bone, she tried to stop several synapses from firing, resulting in a fierce blush, but it was too late, and her cheeks flamed at his touch. He murmured a few words, a minty wisp of magic fluttering from his fingertips and into her chest, and she inhaled with satisfaction, patting his hand in thanks as he withdrew it. He sunk into the seat at her side this time, instead of the one he'd claimed across the cabin, and she didn't protest the proximity.

"It was a coincidence, or some sort of cosmic joke. I'd taken the mortal guise of Amund, and interned myself to Birger, who is a medical field consultant of SHIELD's. I found him in Norway, and it suited my purpose to be in a country rather out of the way. You know my gift for languages, so communication, and even the accent you witnessed, were not difficult. Then I was in, and worked with him these past few years. He's a good man, easily explains away my oddities to anyone who questions." He shrugged, a hand tapping on the armrest between them as he explained. "Birger has a list of consultations at any given time, he cycles between cases and down the list as priorities change. You were bumped to a position near the top, implying the gravity of your condition. The rest, as they say, is history. You kept your own surname." He added the last bit in a tone tinted with wonder, prodding her.

"Wasn't into being anyone but Darcy Lewis," she muttered by way of explanation, waving a hand dismissively. "I thought I had everything under control, keeping my name, kicking Ian to the curb when I'd had enough, raising two daughters who can hold their own. What I didn't expect was this stupid sickness, and a psycho ex-girlfriend of yours stalking me for decades of my life." She snapped the last bit, letting the topic of Amora hang between them, hoping he would take the bait.

Loki sighed, removing his leather coat in what looked like preparation for a lengthy discussion. His fingers resumed tapping against the seat, and he frowned, wondering where to start. "Amora is Asgardian, but she has long been banished from our realm. She began training under a master sorceress, but her craving for power and tendencies for dark magic resulted in her exile. She hid away, cultivating her powers in secret, nursing a strange obsession with Thor for centuries. She would make dramatic appearances on the battlefield, seeking his approval and affection, but he always scorned her advances, and we defeated her pleas for attention easily. Her focus at some point turned to myself…She saw a kindred spirit, someone who never fit in even before I knew the truth of my parentage." His voice was toneless, as if he were reciting from a book, but his fingers ceased tapping, his hand clenching instead when he mentioned his legacy. Unthinkingly, Darcy reached over, clasping her smaller hand over his in a show of silent comfort. He half-smiled, gaze distant as he continued, but his hand turned over, fingers linking with hers.

"My, ah, attempt on New York convinced her I was an ally in every sense, and she contacted me, several times, after you freed me from SHIELD's hold. The encounters escalated in frustration on her part, and then…She learned of your existence. After her attack, she assumed you had died that day, and that kept you safe for a long while. But I am afraid there she has an information pathway into SHIELD. Its ranks are no longer trustworthy. My falsified demise of several years ago…It was a desperate measure. I had to vanish, retreat from her view and find a way to be rid of her, when I heard she was searching again. As you've seen, her powers are extensive, similar to my own; teleportation, mind control, illusions, she can nearly match me in every field. It will take a lot to destroy her, but my primary focus is you and your family's safety for now. I owe you that much." He finished with a squeeze to her hand, somber green eyes raising to hers at last. "It seems I am always owing you."

Darcy shrugged, unruffled. "I don't charge interest, at least." Her primary concern lay with her family. "And Alice? Was that injury just because she was with you, or..." She trailed off, afraid to even voice the thought.

Loki's jaw set, and he looked down. "I'm afraid not. She has a strong magic signal in her aura, because of me, and it's a parlor trick for Amora to recognize that, even through another body. She employed a special weapon to harm Alice, thinking she is dangerous, and a link between us that needs immediate severing."

Darcy's gaze skittered away, not ready to delve into the subject of links between them. "So the superpowers came with a price for us both, should've known!" She snapped her fingers in mild dismay, then exhaled with her bottom lip jutted out, blowing her bangs from her eyes. Tilting her head back on the seat, she eyed the ceiling of the cabin. "Too much heavy talk for Darcy. I need a distraction."

As if on cue, the train shuddered with enough force to make her bounce in her seat, head banging on the rest behind her neck. "Ouchhh. That sure wasn't what I had in mind." It did it again, the light fixtures rattling and swinging lightly. "I didn't know trains got turbulence."

"They don't, not with all the technological advances of this age, unless there is interference." Loki spoke curtly, hand leaving hers as he rose swiftly to his feet, already on guard. The train bumped again, and he steadied himself with a hand to the wall. "And nothing is coincidence now." He moved to raise the blinds concealing a window across their private cabin, revealing the hallway running through the middle of the train, which appeared empty. He then held a hand out, palm downward, to indicate she should stay where she was. "I'll be right back." With that, he slipped out into the moving train, leaving Darcy's eyes to roam the enclosed area cautiously.

Standing cautiously, she reached into an overhead compartment, retrieving her cross body bag. Fumbling inside, she pulled her taser from her belt, transferring it to the bag and grabbing her gun, feeling safer with deadlier force in her hand. "Nothing is coincidence now," she repeated in an irritated mutter, thumbing off the safety of her weapon. "Why'd I have to fall for a guy whose baggage has baggage?" She gave it three minutes, before folding her arms across her middle, concealing the gun in her sweater and moving into the hallway as well.

She couldn't see Loki, and started peering into each cabin she passed. It was a night train, their tickets some of the few purchased, so that narrowed things down a bit. She passed an elderly man, absorbed in a tablet he was swiping at, and a pair of kids, fighting over a portable hologram player, none of whom seemed concerned. Just as she passed another cabin, Loki popped into view a foot in front of her, a green light fading from his hands.

Darcy started violently, the gun leveling at him just as a gasp slipped past her lips. His admonition that she didn't listen to him fell short as her gasp led to another coughing fit, and she pressed a hand against his shoulder for support, the back of her gun-toting hand pressing to her lips to muffle the noise. His hand went to her waist to steady her, and she didn't protest.

When she straightened, there was no blood on the back of her hand, and she considered that a small victory. Then the train jolted once again, little icons overheard blinking on, indicating passengers should return to their cabins and fasten safety restraints. Darcy had no desire to be a sitting duck, and when the sound of glass shattering down the hall reached her ears, she stood her ground, shoulder to shoulder with Loki; or rather, shoulder to eye-level, which was as high as she reached on him. Having removed his trench coat, he was left in a dark leather jerkin over a green tunic, and she eyed the slightly more form-fitting outfit with approval, as he pulled out a dagger.

"Just like old times, eh?" She nudged him playfully, his eyes widening in surprise at the action. "Danger junkie," he muttered, shaking his head, and she was proud to know she'd played a big part in developing his Midgardian vocabulary.

The crunch of glass silenced them, and they watched as a man stomped into sight, apparently having smashed his way onto the train from about three compartments in. Offhandedly, Darcy hoped no one was in those rear compartments. He was a burly guy, pale-skinned, clad in some sort of breast-plated, heavy armor. He carried only a long-handled, wicked-looking axe. Sporting a shaved head, and a goatee that was probably intended to be menacing, he reminded Darcy immediately of the Huns as depicted in an old Disney movie, and bit her lip to prevent a grin. The man spotted them down the hallway from him, a wide grin splitting his face. "Darcy Lewis."

"That's my name, but I don't think we've been introduced," Darcy confirmed in clipped tones. "I think that's only fair before you off me or whatever, don't you?"

"I am Skurge, the Executioner, servant to Amora," the man ground out, bowing his head briefly in a mockery of respect. "And I am not to be jested with, mortal, humorous you may be." He hefted the axe, and strode forward, somehow unhindered by the tight confines of a train corridor. Darcy was impressed, but nonetheless raised her gun, aiming for a gap in the armor near his neck. There wasn't much else, and she squinted, wishing her eyes were twenty years younger, before firing three shots in quick succession. They hit, she could tell they did, but the bullets flattened against the man's skin, chinking as they fell to the floor harmlessly. Her mouth gaped, but she was somehow less surprised than she would otherwise be.

"My turn," Loki said in a dangerous tone, teeth gritted as he stepped in front of Darcy, a gentle hand pushing her back.

"I suppose it's no use to ask you to run?" He tossed the question over his shoulder, head tilted in expectation until Darcy rebounded from her surprise and replied with a cheerful "Nope!" His head inclined in resigned acknowledgement before he turned back to the matter at hand, summoning green light to hover between his palms. He was still tired from the earlier battle, Darcy knew, and she watched him carefully, not averse to dragging him away and jumping from a moving train if this didn't go their way.

A door banged open behind her, and she waved her gun in the air, cutting off someone's alarmed query by shouting "FBI business! Stay in your seats!" and hoping the firearm alone was badge enough for these people to cooperate. It seemed to be, and the same door slammed shut almost immediately, leaving her to wilt in relief, turning back to Loki.

She still could never get enough of watching him in combat, she realized, trying to follow his fluid movements. He wasn't much for the smash-everything path of brute force, as Thor was, his personal fighting style resembling more of an elaborate dance. He had retreated from SHIELD missions after the attack on her by Amora, only going on select operations with Thor, but she eagerly sought out the surveillance footage later, to watch in secret. It was voyeuristic, she realized, but easily explained away as tactical research or something, and it was super fucking cool.

Covertly checking out his ass as he lunged at the Executioner, slamming a fistful of magic into the villain's chest, her eyebrows raised in admiration, grudgingly returning to earth when her phone started blaring an instrumental rendition of "I Saw The Sign". It was by now a nearly fifty year-old song, but she still shamelessly jammed. Eyes locked on Loki, her free hand reached for the phone, hitting the receive button by muscle memory as it lifted to her ear. "Hello?"

"Darcy? It's Jane," her friend's familiar voice reached her, albeit slightly tinnier. "Just wanted to let you know we made it to New York." A loud roar from the big guy fighting Loki interrupted, and the image of herself taking a phone call in the middle of a tense battle was comical. Darcy fully holstered her gun, using her now-free hand's pinkie finger to plug her other ear to hear better. "What was that?"

"I said, we- Is there a fight or something going on, on your end?" Jane sounded baffled, and Darcy pumped a fist into the air as Loki blasted the Executioner onto his back. "Uh, yes. Loki's got it under control, though. How's Alice?" Darcy's voice was calm, but Jane knew anxiety lay beneath the simple question.

"Med guys took her away as soon as we landed. She passed out around Virginia, Darcy." Jane tried to sugarcoat as best she could, but her friend would truly appreciate bluntness over anything. "Her arm…the veins are blackening, past her bandage, up to her shoulder and down across her hand, from what I could see. Thor mentioned possibly bifrost-ing Frigga down here, to help, but it requires Odin's permission, blah blah…"

Even among gods, there was red tape, and Darcy pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers, inhaling slowly before responding to the annoying news. "Has she regained consciousness? Are you with her?"

"I'm as far as they've let me, outside her room. They say they want to make sure it's nothing contagious, which is ridiculous, but…" Remembering Loki's warning about SHIELD's ranks being compromised, Darcy's blood chilled. "Jane, you've got to be in there with her at all times, and Thor too, when he can be. Get Ian on the phone, name-drop anyone you can, nag the hell out of Hill, I don't care, just get cleared for it. You, not any old guard or whatever. We can't trust SHIELD. And push for Frigga to come."

Jane assured her she'd get herself and Anna clearance inside Alice's room, and Darcy asked to speak to her youngest, just as a door down the corridor was ripped from its hinges and used as a club against Loki. Wincing, she heard Anna's voice on the end of the line. "Mom? What the hell?"

Cringing anew, knowing she still had a lot to explain to her hapless nineteen year-old, Darcy cleared her throat. "I'm so sorry, Anna, I'll explain everything when I can. For now, keep a close eye on your sister, especially if Jane has to step away, okay? You've got to be careful. And trust Uncle Thor, have him verify anyone who comes in. I love you sweetie, but I've got to go now." Darcy's sentence ended with a crash, Loki having tackled the executioner through a wall. "Wow, bad reception out here, huh? Okay, take care of yourself, keep me posted."

Clicking off, Darcy shoved the phone in her pocket, squinting at the scene before her. This guy was like Bane from Batman, endless stamina and a frame to put the Hulk to shame. He kept making creepy eye contact with her, too, like fighting Loki was a little game, and he could come squish her like a fly whenever he wanted. She could sense Loki was tiring; the green of his magic had taken on a washed-out look, to her eyes. This had gone on too long,

Eyes travelling past the scuffle, she saw the door signaling the end of the train, at a far end of the corridor, and an idea took hold. She was a closet old-western movie fan, and she'd seen train components used to great effect. Could she make it, could she? Mouth quirking to the side, she contemplated the distance, comfort level of her boots, and her own stamina, before swinging her arms at her sides, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet for a moment. Then she broke into a run, slipping past the brawling otherworldly pair who had smashed into a compartment, giving her room to maneuver. She was concentrating intently on her plan and hoping Loki's telepathy radar thingy was turned on. As she passed them, the Executioner made a grab for her leg, but a slice from Loki's dagger sent his arm retracting to swipe at the trickster instead. What looked like a random burst of green magic swept past Darcy, beating her and bursting apart as it hit the door ahead of her.

Wheezing like her chubby twelve year-old self had when asked to run a mile of laps, Darcy reached the exit door, which was heavily latched and labeled with "EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY, ALARM WILL SOUND" in red lettering and about twelve languages. That was totally fine with her, and Darcy pulled at a red lever optimistically, heaving all her weight at it. At first nothing happened, and one more ounce of pressure made a little click sound, and the door was screeching robotically, opening several inches before only one more safety lever kept it intact. The speed of the train combined with the pressure of the door opening resulted in Darcy nearly being expelled herself.

Latching onto the doorframe with all her might, she screamed down the corridor. "Over here, you dim-witted Asgardian scum!" Hopefully that didn't offend Loki, it was all she had. She was also suddenly hoping the conductor hadn't been alerted remotely that the emergency door was open, and would stop the train, but suddenly, Loki's voice was in her head. "Severed the wiring with that spell. You'd better have a deathgrip on that door, or I'll kill you myself."

Grinning with exhilaration, Darcy watched as the Executioner backhanded Loki away from him, wiping a hand across his bloodied mouth as he started to stomp towards Darcy. "I can't imagine what a stressful life you must lead, Mister Executioner, if you have this much trouble executing one mortal woman," she taunted, voice strained with the physical exertion of holding herself up.

The burly man answered with an annoyed grunt, raising the axe he'd retrieved above his head and taking the last few steps towards her. Hefting the weapon gave him less balance, and she clamped her eyes shut as Loki darted towards them, a final blast of magic sending Skurge straight into the emergency hatch that hung shut by a thread. It gave way immediately under the force, sending the Executioner hurling out behind the train, his axe skidding and sparking along the metal tracks. He was by no means dead, but would have a fun time catching them again.

Loki was on his knees after the expenditure of magic that pushed Skurge, but waved his hand one more time, sealing the doorway invisibly with a spell. Darcy tentatively peeled a hand from the doorframe, afraid her hand would be in a lobster-claw position forever after the pressure of her grip. When she wasn't flung from the train's still-eerily-open rear hatch, she let go completely, trying to catch her own breath as she moved to crouch at Loki's side.

His eyes were heavy-lidded, breathing ragged, but he managed a sentence, side-eyeing her unhappily. "I've no idea where you got that insane idea from."

Darcy collapsed onto her haunches, raking a hand through her hair. "Movies. Man, being a badass is so much harder than I remember," she managed, ending on a violent cough that left a red splash in her palm. Wiping it hurriedly on her dark jeans where the stain would be camouflaged, she licked her lips, hoping to erase any trace of blood. But looking up, she caught Loki's eyes, bright with alarm, roaming up and down her person. "I'm fine, I'm fine. You did all the work, big guy." She shuffled forward on her knees, collapsing against him for a hug. She couldn't stay mad at him for everything, and he'd just saved her, again. It was she who was always owing him. Pressing a weary kiss to his cheek, she rested her own against his shoulder, assured when his arms came around her waist, pressing her to him.

"All in a day's work around Darcy Lewis, I suppose," he murmured into her hair, and the resulting laugh didn't make her cough at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very pleased and flattered with the response to Woven over here on AO3!!!  
> I tend to forget to keep these chapters on par with my uploads to FFN, apologies!
> 
> Anddddd...
> 
> We're about to descend into the last leg of Woven, folks, because I don't want to drag on the cat-and-mouse game...
> 
> Influential song for this week was "Silhouettes" by Of Monsters and Men.

"You must be nice to patients if you are to succeed, Amund." His alias was used punitively, Birger's tones annoyed, a rarity for the usually-jovial man.

Loki scoffed, resisting the urge to kick one of the several potted plants at his feet that grew herbal remedies the mortal doctor loved to employ. He settled for folding his arms across his chest as he stared across the bay from the Oslo clinic's balcony. The water, dappled with the soft glow of city lights in the early evening, was like a balm. He'd snapped at his seventh patient of the day, a man whom he was certain had a form of hypochondria, because having a fever in your elbow alone was simply not a thing-

"Are you listening to me? I know you must find it silly to humor the ailments of ants, my dear friend, but are there not enough boots in this world that might crush them? Is it not our duty to prevent such occurrences, if we are able? If you do not want to do this work, you must let me know at once." Birger let off his chastising, and Loki shot a sidelong embittered glance at the man. His reference to a speech from long ago chafed, like Birger had known it would. Loki was not that person. The man beside him was right, he had taken it upon himself to train the young man who'd shown up on his doorstep scant weeks ago reeking of magic. He did so without question, without judgment, somehow having an idea who he was already. Loki – Amund – owed him effort.

Sighing gustily, he unfolded his arms and turned from the water, bowing his head and gesturing for Birger to precede him back into the clinic, where their hypochondriac waited.

"Now," said Birger briskly, rubbing his hands together before separating them to sift through a rack of medicines in the pharmacy stockroom. "I quite agree that there is nothing wrong with him, but sometimes we must let them think they're right. A little ground-up garlic put in hot water will taste and smell medicinal, I think, and perhaps he will not feel so eager to consult on a whim next time, eh?"

Loki grinned in approval at the placebo the little man proposed. Perhaps he could tap into his roots of trickery after all, in this field. His magical inclinations already made it very easy to diagnose, just by general auras alone, and with all the outlandish self-diagnoses he saw in a day, he could have fun. Perhaps if he ever deigned to settle down…

Birger coughed lightly, squaring his shoulders and plastering a serious look on his face before he re-entered the examination room. "Mr. Tromsen, I have just the thing for your sickness…"

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The memory faded, carried away on a mental current. Oh, how Loki desired that man's confidence right now, his solutions to anything and everything.

The body of water he looked upon at the moment, rendered inky black in the night, did not have the same effect Oslo's waters had offered in less troubling times. Perhaps it was the heavy rain he paced in, though his magic had formed an invisible umbrella of sorts for him. The magic he had been shaping absentmindedly between his hands sparked in protest at his attention straying. Sighing, he let the spell drop, scouring his memory for more specific healing enchantments, but nothing was forthcoming.

He had asked Darcy earlier, curiously, if she had ever attempted consciously summoning a vision. She'd replied flippantly, something about vaguely wishing to know lottery numbers and the numbers of "cute guys on the street", but she'd never directly attempted to. He would never ask her to try, especially now, given her condition, but he felt unusually at a loss as to how to proceed against Amora. Idly, he wished he had both his mother's skill for scrying, and the pool she used to do so, back in Asgard.

His boots continued to mark time as he paced back and forth upon the darkened dock, each step resounding in his mind like a tolling of a bell, counting down, foreboding.

Streaks of rain raced each other down the pane of glass separating Darcy from the outside world, and she glared at the offending moisture as if it would evaporate under her gaze. It didn't, leading her to wonder why, in this day and age, there wasn't a windshield wiper equivalent for building windows. Some people had to watch out for crazed sorceresses after their blood, for goodness' sake.

It was late evening, and Darcy's first day in Seattle had been blanketed in sheets and sheets of the goddamned precipitation. She supposed it was the Pacific Northwest's form of welcome. Unable to sleep because of her increasingly-lengthy and vivid nightmares, she'd foregone rest after about an hour of dozing, migrating to the window. The drumming of the droplets on the window was soothing, despite the gloominess and her irritation, and her thoughts calmed quickly.

Loki had insisted they keep moving, and so they'd strayed north instead of east towards New York and the others, as would be predictable, particularly given the attack on the train. International travel would be more difficult, and exhaust her more, he had said, but they still could not risk her being found by Amora. He was currently out, having left before she went to bed to lurk in the night, probably practicing some magical equivalent of erasing their tracks with the fronds of a fern.

The mental picture made her smile, fingers reaching up to trace the water rivulets on the outside of the glass. It was a bay window, flanked by two others, opening onto a view of Puget Sound, the waves dark and murky in the sunless early hours. The waterfront house was a timeshare Ian had kept, probably to remind him of England when he was this far west doing SHIELD business; she had dimly recalled being given rights to use it during the divorce proceedings.

Ian. She'd spoken to him at length two nights ago, after the situation on the train, filling him in on what had happened to close several floors of her hospital and why she was out and about, though not where she was. He'd taken it remarkably well, especially when she'd told him their eldest was gravely wounded and in a secure hospital room of SHIELD's. She'd expected resistance, to be told to get back in bed somewhere, or a thorough berating of how she acted first and thought later, putting their daughters in danger in the process this time. But there'd been nothing besides cursory remarks about how relieved he was they were all okay. She'd told him where Alice was, insisting the girls would want to see him, and had hung up, feeling strangely disconcerted.

There was also still the issue of spies within SHIELD, and between everything, worry was draining the strength from her like it was running her body through a twenty-mile marathon. It would be over soon, she told herself now, eyeing with mild alarm her fingernails as she sketched upon the glass. Underneath her nails and along her fingertips themselves, the skin was starting to blacken. What that boded, she didn't want to know, and she clenched her right fist, noting with small satisfaction that there was yet sensation in her fingers. She quickly tugged the sleeve of her baggy sweater over her hand, folding it to her chest as she watched the rain.

At last the downpour outside seemed to lessen, the streaks on the glass ebbing away to small splashes here and there, and she could see the cobblestone pathway that led down to the water. Movement caught her eye, and her nose pressed to the glass cautiously before she recognized Loki's lanky form, pacing along the private boardwalk. Little flashes of green sparked from his hands, waving in complicated gestures in front of him, and she welcomed the warm rush of security that washed over her at seeing her magical bodyguard on duty.

Turning from the window to attempt sleep again, Darcy stopped short, hand moving to her forehead as a wave of dizziness struck. She wavered on her feet, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, edging gingerly towards the couch. Immediate relief came when she was seated, but as she reclined, her phone's chipper ringtone broke the peaceful silence of the living room. Grimacing, she leaned forward to rummage in her purse resting atop the coffee table, retrieving the device and noting Jane on the caller ID before swiping acceptance of the call. "Jane? Yes, I'm sitting down. What's wrong?" Rapid-fire tones, rendered even more incoherent through the phone line, filled her ears. "Wait, start at the beginning. Who…?"

Three minutes later, the phone was dropped unceremoniously to the floor, reverting to sleep mode while a suddenly much paler Darcy staggered towards the patio door, almost drunkenly. The dizziness was back in full storm, anxiety clutching at something in her chest like a palpable fist.

She made it outside and down the porch steps, the fresh air doing nothing to rejuvenate her in her panic. Gasping and panting, she finally reached the path for the water through sheer will. A hand clutched to her chest, she tried to regulate her breathing and resist coughing, spotting Loki ahead as he paced. Before she was within fifty feet, he looked up, head jerking in her direction, and a second later, he was in front of her. "Darcy, why are you outside?" He seemed to note her pallor even in the darkness, tensing and holding out a hand to her shoulder for support. "What has happened?"

"Jane called...he's dead...Alice," she managed to choke out, before her vision darkened and she was collapsing on her feet, certain the unforgiving stone path would give her a concussion to balance with her other prolific ailments. She didn't feel the steely arms that caught her instantly, the familiar bronze bracers glinting in the moonlight as Loki clutched her limp form close to his chest, a whisper of magic getting them safely inside the house a moment later.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Not to worry, my dear, not to worry," Birger was murmuring, patting Jane's shoulder consolingly. He smiled benignly down at a groggy Alice, her dark hair splayed out across her pillow, a stark contrast to her pallor. "I believe the, ah, bracelet she wears, is actually circumventing the harm that has been done, to some extent. Enough to keep her stable for now."

Jane was chewing at her thumbnail, unconvinced. Darcy's specialist had been called in after she herself had attested to his trustworthiness, and since he longer had that patient, he'd set right to work. He did what he could, pumping anything at hand into Alice to boost her immune system and keep her circulation as regular as possible. Still, he couldn't extract black magic from a wound, though he studied the injury at length, curious but unsurprised that such things were possible. That was where Frigga came in, hopefully. Thor had left to head to another building in this particular facility of SHIELD, where there was a bifrost-friendly landing pad of sorts. He was journeying to Asgard himself to seek their help.

That left Jane to play mother hen with remarkable accuracy to Darcy's stubborn daughter, who had tried to get out of bed at every turn since she'd awoken. Jane had threatened restraints, and that had finally settled her, but her resentful green gaze was currently burrowing into Jane, into her soul it felt like at times. The girl was too Lokiesque sometimes, Ian or no Ian.

"Where's my dad?" Alice was now saying, alternately fidgeting with her covers and plucking at the bandages on her arm.

Jane sighed again. "He's on his way-" She was interrupted by a polite triple knock at the door, and pulled it open to admit the man himself and give him a quick hug in greeting. Ian looked rough, glassy-eyed and unshaven, but he was smiling warmly as he moved to the bed, wrapping his arms around Alice with a respectful nod to Birger.

Jane felt a little strange watching the reunion and decided to head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat. Flashing five fingers at Birger to signify she'd be right back, she slipped into the hallway. Anna was already down there, meeting up with her boyfriend over lunch. Or was it dinner? Jane raked a hand through her hair wearily, no longer certain what day it was.

It must have been nighttime, and everyone here must have been insomniacs, because the line just to get coffee was ridiculous. Twenty minutes later, alternately chugging a latte and taking bites of a bagel, she was on her way back upstairs, having checked in with Anna to tell her Ian was here, if she wanted to see him. She'd assured her she would head right up.

Knowing Alice was in good hands, Jane decided to head over to the adjoining research center on her way back to SHIELD's medical facility, nodding in approval when she found her team plugging away at the last batch of data she had collected.

Hitting the level for Alice's room, the elevator admitted Jane onto a floor that immediately felt off. Again. Chucking the remnants of her on-the-go meal into a bin nearby, she stood still, listening intently. This was a private ward, Alice currently the only patient as per Hill's orders, as per Darcy's, and there was never much activity. A metallic rattle sounded at the end of the hallway, but nothing else seemed visibly off, so she continued down the wing, pulling out the keycard that would admit her to Alice's room.

When the door was in sight, she pulled up short. The door was open, propped open by what looked like a chair leg snagged against it. Limbs feeling suddenly laden with dread, she tried to shake it off and jerkily walked forward. She almost stopped again, noting a pool of crimson starting to creep from beneath the door, its color a harsh contrast against the white tile floor.

Finally reaching the room, Jane swallowed before straightening her shoulders and pushing open the door. Eyes focused straight out ahead of her, she noted the empty bed first, the covers askew, a torn-out IV drip flopped across the sheets. Alice was gone, as was Ian. A bag that had held spare clothes for Alice was conspicuously still on a chair at the bedside, the other tipped over and keeping the door from closing. Jane's eyes dropped, the dread she'd felt confirmed when they skated over Birger's motionless form crumpled on the cold tiles. He lay on his side, one hand clutched to his throat, the other spread out in front of him. The back of her hand moved to cover her mouth as her brows clenched in sorrow, knowing on sight that he was no longer among the living. His presence felt...cold, not the usual warmth a nearby human supplied, and not for the first time, her Aesir traits made her feel sick.

The pool of blood was far too large, the flow of blood from the visibly slashed throat far too sluggish. The kindhearted Norwegian doctor's normally warm brown eyes were wide, blank, the veil of death already having claimed them. Kneeling beside him, Jane reached out a hand to close his eyes, shutting her own briefly in respect.

Whoever had done it was obviously long gone, but this had happened for a reason. She set right to work, eyes well versed in the art of observation and research roving over his hands and body. She noted defensive scrapes and bruising that had stalled with death, splotching his hands. She sighed, resting an arm across her bent knee in her knelt position. "Looks like you fought back…" Her eyes roamed the room. Had they let someone else in? Was Ian a captive as well as Alice? Or was he in pursuit, somewhere in the hospital?

Standing, she gingerly made her way back into the corridor, looking it up and down again before raising her phone to put a call through to Darcy. Footsteps echoed behind her, and Jane whipped around in time to see Anna approaching, mouth opening in surprise as she spotted the doorway. Jane immediately barred her way, grabbing Anna by the shoulders and bodily turning her from the scene. "Anna, I need you to do everything I say. Stay right here with me while I call your mom, okay?" The young girl nodded blankly, still unaware of what happened, but she seemed to grasp it was something terrible, leaning against the wall and sinking into a seated position against it quietly.

"Darcy? It's me…"

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darcy came to groggily, the soothing crackling of the lit fireplace the only thing she could hear. A hand to her aching head, she groaned slightly, her other hand moving to prop her into a sitting position. A pleasant minty smell still hung in the air, an obvious trace of Loki's healing magic. She realized she was on the couch, a blanket spread across her but her sweater removed, leaving her in a white tank top and flannel lounge pants she'd been sporting.

Her sweater. Her hands. Flipping one over in front of her, she noted with dismay no change in the black creeping around her nails. Hopefully, he hadn't seen...But who was she kidding? With that anxiety came memory of the phone call, and what had happened. Birger, whom she'd called Burger so fondly...gone, like that. Her daughter, missing and taken who knows where. She was utterly helpless, benched on the sidelines because of her stupidity and weakness.

An anguished sob escaped her lips, and she clenched a fist, moving it to her mouth to staunch any more outbursts. But they kept coming, her chest tight with sobs that rocked her back and forth when they escaped in increasing succession. A small gust of air sent the flames in the fireplace roaring anew, and then Loki was there, perched on the couch beside her.

Slender, alabaster hands cradled her face, thumbs brushing tears from beneath her eyes as he shushed her quietly. "You mustn't distress yourself."

She jerked towards him, ready to tell him just how distressed she would make herself at the news her dear doctor was dead, likely her fault, but the concerned look in his eyes halted the words in her throat and stole her breath. His own green gaze looked heavy, sorrow for his own mentor warring with concern for her reaction's impact on her health. "I contacted Jane myself for details, when I had tended to you. This was not your fault, Darcy."

One of Darcy's hands moved to hold Loki's to her cheek, her eyes closing as she sniffled. "It was. If I hadn't gotten sick, he wouldn't have been called in, wouldn't have been the one to call for Alice, and I-"

"would be dead, rendering any occurrence afterwards moot in the scheme of things." Loki's tone was flat with certainty. Darcy's lids flicked open, the anguish momentarily extinguishing in her eyes as she regarded him questionably. "We…I have had to intercede already, to preserve your life, and it would not have been possible if I had not been there, because Birger was consulted. I would not change a thing that has happened, if it means you are right here, safe."

Darcy abruptly dropped his hand, pulling away from his grasp. "But Alice-"

"-will be found, and swiftly, but Darcy," Loki's hand moved to tilt her face back towards his. "You must keep yourself well, do you understand, or it's all for naught, everything Birger did for you." His voice wavered uncharacteristically at his next words, though he smiled weakly at first. "He was a great man, for a mortal. Do not make his efforts have been in vain."

Tears in her eyes, Darcy opened her mouth to reply, but she had nothing. No wit, no assurance, not even a cheesy joke came forth. Instead, her phone rang again, and she jumped, Loki's hand moving to her shoulder reassuringly as his other proffered the gadget. She eyed it resentfully, but, seeing Ian's name on the screen, froze, remembering that Jane had told her he'd visited, but she didn't know where he'd gone.

"H-hello? Ian?" She ventured when she picked it up. "Hey, Darcy," came the response from the other end of the line, the phrasing and words hinting at familiarity, but it was all wrong. The voice, who it was, should not have been calling her from this number.

Sickly sweet, simpering female tones were all at once giving her stern instructions, as Darcy looked helplessly to Loki, his jaw locked, eyes narrowed as he listened in grimly.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hesitant to move things quite so quickly, but I'm also antsy to conclude the tale and move on. The struggles of a writer with attention problems. I've compromised, sort of scrapping what I did with this chapter, but there are still only a few chapters to go. Thanks for keeping with me guys.
> 
> Influential song for this week was "Get Home" by Bastille, but really, their entire album is flawless and gave me tons of feels for this story in particular.

Of all the places to have been when she went into labor, Darcy had never thought it would be in the middle of a massive, apologetic, explanatory speech in a coffee shop, only halfway through the largest iced decaf coffee they offered. It was also a stormy night that had already broken precipitation records, complete with thunder and lightning. The latter was likely due to a puzzled Thor, his eyes ping ponging between Jane and Darcy as he watched the heavily pregnant woman finally explain her…dalliance with his brother, to her best friend. She was on maternity leave, with a lot of time to think, and had decided she wanted all cards on the table before Jane agreed to join her in the delivery room when the time came. That, coincidentally, hadn't taken long.

The astrophysicist's reaction had ranged from a puzzled muttering of "Loki?" to an outraged "Loki?! All this time?" That had been the height of her eloquence, as she'd struggled to absorb not only that Darcy had freed him, but started a liaison of sorts, and that he'd completely saved her and her child's life. But after a second chai tea latte, Jane had sighed gustily, saying that balanced his ledger in her book, and that was the end of it. Darcy's sigh of relief had been interrupted by a wince, and an embarrassed look towards the floor, accompanied by a pattering noise. "Uh…"

Jane had broken several speed limits getting her to the hospital, calling it in to SHIELD to let them know, and Ian had met them there. He'd even brought Erik Selvig, who assured them he'd stay in the waiting room with Thor all evening and congratulate them when it was all well and done. His fatherly presence had brought tears to Darcy's eyes, and she promised herself a hug for him later.

And then Darcy was all too soon regretting ever having sex in her life, quite frankly, uttering explicitly-detailed profanities that would make the fiercest pirate wince. The labor was taking longer than expected, her nurses muttering often amongst themselves, and she'd heard one say at a point that the fetus "simply wasn't cooperating". Yep, that was the luck of Darcy Lewis. Survive certain death of that and her child, and then the kid was as stubborn as her, refusing to come out.

Darcy was steadily losing blood hours into the process, and nearly all activity had stalled, when a tall, authoritative female nurse had entered the room, already masked and snapping on surgical gloves, barking orders in a lightly accented voice that assured Darcy immediately.

"When you've done it yourself, dear, it's much easier to guide others," the nurse murmured kindly with a wink as she moved to tuck Darcy's covers more firmly around her, shooing away Jane and Ian for a coffee break. Jane had paused, staring at the nurse and looking like she was trying to retrieve a memory, but she finally shrugged and followed Ian out the door.

"It's lovely to meet you! I hear you're the quite the hero round these parts," the nurse continued, tapping at an IV drip and changing out a cord with movements that looked well-practiced. "The famous Darcy Lewis, SHIELD agent and general…badass, is that the correct term?" She spoke the slang uncertainly, like she'd never heard it, and Darcy grinned, woozy from the exertion and pain so far.

"That's me," she confirmed, ending her words with a wince and hiss of pain. The nurse shushed her gently, telling her to save her strength and that she'd let her know when it was time to push.

Forty-five minutes later, a squalling filled the air, an enormous sound for such a small child to make. The nurse had expertly cleaned and blanketed her for Darcy to hold, congratulating her warmly. The baby was only around five and a half pounds; Darcy took one look at her, exhaustion weighing on her lids, and murmured "Alice". Ian was rubbing her shoulders and kissing her sweaty temple any chance he got, overjoyed. Darcy happened to notice the helpful nurse removing her mask and making for the door, and handed the bundle named Alice to Ian for a moment, her mouth opening to call after the nurse. But she was already gone, whisking out the door like she had somewhere to be.

Darcy's room was at the end of the hallway, the window of her room facing the length of the corridor, and she could see the nurse making her way down it with stately strides. Suddenly curious, Darcy tried to crane her neck, noticing the woman about to round a corner. All of a sudden, a green gleam seeped across the woman's form, revealing not an overworked nurse in aqua scrubs, but a tall woman with bronze hair in ringlets that cascaded down her back, clad in a royal blue dress that swept the hospital floors. And then she vanished completely, before she'd turned the corner. Her impromptu patient blinked, wondering if it was the painkillers, if anyone else had seen, who the woman's paycheck was written out to, how she'd known...

"Frigga," Darcy breathed out, between Jane's squeals and Ian's excited whispering, in complete disbelief at who'd just deigned to play her midwife. She'd only ever heard of the Asgardian queen, offhand remarks by Loki and Thor. If royal visits and lifesaving magic were any indication, this kid was already well on the way to being spoiled.

"What was that?" Ian was rocking Alice lightly, his pinkie clutched in a tiny hand.

Darcy snapped back to herself, blinking up at him. "Her middle name, it's gonna be Frigga."

"That's a gorgeous name, love, for an equally gorgeous baby, isn't she," Ian crooned his last words, as happy as Darcy had ever seen him. Jane, hands clenched together in happiness behind him, had frozen when Darcy had muttered the name, head jerking to look at the closed door. She met Darcy's eyes, a brow raised.

The new mother just smiled tiredly, gesturing for Ian to perch on the side of the bed with Alice so she could look at her daughter.

"Can't wait to see Steve Rogers' face when I plop this little peanut in his arms," Darcy chortled, unable to stop laughing once she'd started. The post-procedure painkillers were kicking in right on schedule.

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Blue eyes flicked open, dismay coloring their depths. She'd give almost anything to be back then, her daughter safely ensconced in her arms, husband at her side, not a care in the world beyond wondering how the hell to feed Alice.

All her money, all her possessions, her landholdings, her limbs, her life itself, for what it was worth these days, anyways. She'd give it all, she just wanted her daughter safe.

Folded into a chair and pretending to doze, she'd listened to the debate raging in the next room for some time. Time itself was of the essence, and she'd only taken the time to pop her list of medications before Loki had spelled them to SHIELD, to meet Jane and Thor in a building adjacent to the hospital wings Alice had stayed in. The foursome had immediately closeted themselves in a conference room, away from any stray eyes and ears.

The thunder god had apparently been unsuccessful in his attempts to persuade Odin to allow Frigga to travel to Earth to help Alice, but it didn't matter anyways, to Darcy. Surveillance footage had shown what Jane had explained, Ian arriving, Jane leaving…Ian leaving the room ten minutes later with a weakly struggling Alice, a jacket pulled on over the clothes she'd been admitted in.

Watching Ian's blank expression, Darcy knew it was Amora in there, even through the haze of grainy footage. Too many tidbits of information had clicked into place. Ian's eyes were always bright with thought, running over data from his lab at any moment of inactivity; he was religious about shaving, and he'd certainly have argued with her on the phone. If she'd been there, if she'd stayed with Alice, she could have done something. Recognized something was off. Defended her daughter, and maybe gotten a jump on Amora somehow.

Next to her, Loki's expression had been camouflaged with a blankness she knew all too well, while they reviewed what information they had; he'd likely blow any minute, and she was not looking forward to it. Her eyes had skittered away from him, looking back towards the holographic footage hovering above the table they were consulting at. She had soon feigned fatigue, retreating to rest while they discussed potential moves, which directly translated to fought like cats.

Far from tired, Darcy was thinking. Hard, using all of the tricks she'd been taught in her years of training. Her brain had needed a bit of waking up, but the ingrained patterns of sorting approach methods from negotiation tactics to attack protocol soon took over.

Her eyes closed in resigned reproach as Loki's voice rose from the room over, his tone menacing, but covering the desperation she felt herself. She felt for the necklace at her collarbone, sighing heavily as she sorted potential hideouts of Amora's in her head.

"I did not save the lives of Darcy and her daughter all those years ago only for them to play the sacrificial lambs in a long-simmering feud of our making." He must have been speaking to Thor. "We should have destroyed the witch centuries ago."

"No one, save perhaps Mother, could have foreseen these events, Loki! Do not waste time with blame, brother. We must meet her in combat." Thor's voice was raising to the bellow Darcy always called his wounded-bear act.

"Oh, it's always the direct approach, brawling in the streets, with you. How far do you think that will get you with a sorceress holding a grudge, with centuries of training? And she has Darcy's family in her grasp. One flick of a finger and they will die."

"We must lure her out, away from them, distract her somehow."

"This urgency, these half-baked, last-minute ploys should not be necessary. You had one task, the two of you. One task, to keep Alice safe and secluded until I could take further action." Loki's voice was now dangerously low, and Darcy shifted in her seat, straining to hear. Jane made an indignant noise, cut off by Thor. "Brother, I think you misplace your anger upon Jane and I. Jane made an innocent choice to grab a short reprieve, she believed Alice safe with her father. I believe we all would have done the same. I think you are punishing yourself."

"Am I not sufficiently punished already?" Loki's voice was now a desperate hiss, undulating in volume; he must have been pacing, and Darcy could see him raking his hands through his hair in her head. "You, with your precious Jane protected by Aesir qualities, cannot possibly understand. You think I do not see the woman I love withering away before me, when I have just reached her side again, because I cannot summon the skill to protect her from this alien malady?"

Jane spoke up. "You're not the only one who's tried to help her, you know!"

There was silence for a moment before Loki replied, eerily calm. "Do you know, Jane Foster, that within Darcy Lewis' medical paperwork there is an utterly blank space where her diagnosis and prognosis ought to lie? That mortals, SHIELD doctors, any consultants those fools brought in, absolutely no one knows what is even wrong with her? And now one of the few who may have come close to slowing it down is dead, because of your lapse in judgment. You offered no help to Doctor Birger, and what exactly have you offered to Darcy, might I ask?"

Darcy's blood ran cold at his words, and she rolled up a sleeve with a quivering hand to examine her fingers. The blackness was now snaking towards her knuckles, like an extremely thorough bruising. What was happening to her? It was true, she'd never been given a bottom-line diagnosis, but she'd assumed it was something so grievous, they'd withheld it out of respect, or some bullshit like that. And a small part of her that denied that she was dying had latched onto that offering, and never asked.

Poor Birger could actually do good in the world. She almost wished she could trade him, but after Alice was safe.

Glancing across from where she reclined, Darcy spotted a door leading to the stairwell. She couldn't catch what Jane had replied with, but the noise of something glass breaking had responded to Loki's words, and she could no longer stand the conflict among them all. Cautiously getting to her feet, she tightened her sweater around herself, darting a glance backwards before making for the stairs.

She was huffing and puffing when she burst out onto the roof, but she made it. The icy wind was punishing her for every second of being outside, but she ignored it, moving to stand where she could see a full view of New York City at night. It was just as impressive as it had been all those years ago when she'd been inducted into the ranks of SHIELD. Smiling wryly, she suppressed the memory, trying instead to focus on her daughter, eyes closed.

Something Loki had said earlier, his inquiries into if she'd ever attempted a conscious vision, had struck a chord within her, a chord that resounded when Amora had called using Ian's phone. The sorceress had given Darcy three days to find her, or her daughter would die. It was as if she knew something Darcy didn't. The urge to try to tap into her visions had been burning in her chest all evening, and she had to do something while the sibling rivalry war waged downstairs.

Biting her lip, she pictured Alice, running through tall grass as a child, hefting a backpack as a teenager headed to the library to cram for a test, as the willowy woman she knew her as now, sporting a leather jacket and paperwork that labeled her as a part-time intern to a prestigious diplomat. Something flickered at the edge of Darcy's consciousness, a prickling of awareness, of something she was just on the verge of noticing.

A slow trickling started from her left nostril, but she only shifted her footing, straightening her stance and pressing her eyes closed more firmly. Forming the question in her head, she started to murmur it to herself. "Alice, where are you…"

Her daughter's face, pale and determined, suddenly flashed across her mind's eye, and Darcy's fists clenched. "Come on…" Ian's face came next, dangerously blank and docile, and then there was the blonde witch bitch, lips curved in a smug smirk. Nothing to give away location, just their faces.

Darcy concentrated with all her might, pushing past the barrier of physical impossibility and coming to a stop where she seemingly toed a line, across which the meager magic within her beckoned. Her breathing coming more heavily, she strained as if trying to remember something, ignoring the sensation of warm fluid seeping down her upper lip. She was no longer sure if she was awake, or in some sort of conscious delirium, but it felt like something suddenly unfurled within her, and then the images she'd seen repeated, ending in a blurry street-view image of tall building. It was familiar: the front façade of Stark Tower, long abandoned in favor of an aging Tony Stark's business moving to warm, sunny Italy, last she'd heard. It was kept in impeccable condition on his standing orders, to preserve its status as a beacon of success and hope, but SHIELD had long ceased using it for a meeting place, and the place stood empty.

The image faded, and Darcy fell to her knees, the concrete not greeting her gently. Swiping a hand across her face, it came away bloody, and she glared at the offensive substance. She didn't have time for this, didn't have time in general. And now she understood; Amora had wanted her to force herself, perhaps kill herself trying to use the power cloaked within her. She had to have garnered something from Ian's mind, something about Darcy's oddities.

Startled yells distracted her from her blood-soaked hand, and Jane was soon crouching at her side, saying something unintelligible; everything was a little hazy. Darcy waved her away, but Jane only snatched up the crimson-streaked hand, looking up and saying something sharply to Loki, who knelt on Darcy's other side, expression distraught, his hands hovering at her sides as he gauged her condition. She suddenly realized she was croaking "Stark Tower", over and over. Her vision darkened, before she came back to herself with a shake of her shoulders.

Darcy interrupted them all with a hoarse whisper, prying her hand loose and holding it aloft in a gesture to stop. "I think we all know where this lack of diagnosis-" her gaze cut to Loki briefly "-ends. A nosebleed is just another brick in the wall. Now, are you all done fighting like aging Hollywood divas?"

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Stark tower was still lit up like a lighthouse whenever evening fell on New York City, but it was now more of a testament of days gone by. The energy of the Avengers' hey day was gone, and the building seemed…tired, sad, as Darcy looked up at it. A bit like herself, she thought, snorting lightly at the comparison, trudging across worn cement towards the entryway. Only a few interior lights were on, and she tripped several times, swearing loudly. If no one had known she was there before, they knew now.

She'd thought she knew how Amora operated by this point, but it still struck at something deep in Darcy to be expelled by the elevator onto the top floor, and be presented with Ian's prostrate form at her feet, illuminated by a dim hall light. She loosed a sob, caught off guard, and fell more than crouched at his side, looking up and around as she pulled his head into her lap. Luckily, she felt a miniscule breath raise and lower his chest, and then another, calming slightly.

Regret was not something Darcy felt often, but she did where it concerned him. Ian had never deserved this. He'd been used like a distraction, a toy, a sad attempt to rid herself of memories of Loki. But sunshine, cardigans, and terrible jokes had never been enough to suppress her dreams of leather, steel, and wintry embraces. She'd been wrong, so wrong, to try. But for better or worse, she had, and now she owed him, for her daughters and the years of normalcy they'd had. It wasn't his fault Darcy was a magnet for trouble, and her family by extension.

Pressing a kiss to Ian's clammy temple, Darcy removed her scarf, bundling it into a pillow substitute and laying Ian's head upon it. Rising shakily to her feet, she brushed off her knees, swallowing thickly as she forced some haughtiness into her step to move down the hall. Hopefully the clicking of her heels was announcement enough, and would also sufficiently muffle the sounds of Jane getting Ian out of here. Cognitive recalibration was in the forecast for the poor guy, but if it meant her girls had a parent at the end of all this, so be it.

Her eyes flicked back and forth as she walked, and then she entered the open space that had served as a lounge for SHIELD parties, flanked on one end by Tony's bar. It was still sparsely furnished, and as she rounded the end of a counter, she spotted Alice, apparently alone and unconscious on a couch. She looked terrible, the skin under her closed eyes darkened, everything around that chalky white in the dark room. She was curled in a fetal position, and, disregarding the risk of a trap, Darcy moved to her daughter, running a hand down her cheek and pressing a kiss to her hair. She was burning up, but shivering, and Darcy felt an inkling of what everyone else likely experienced when they looked at her herself, at any given time these days. Hopefully Loki could do something.

Stepping onto the terrace with a terrible sense of déjà vu. If only Darcy were glad in a sexy gown, waiting to be crowned an agent again as she stood at that railing...Darcy took her time working her way to it, where a blonde figured draped in bright green waited.

The color looked noxious on her, contrasting wrongly with her yellow locks and rendering her more lizardlike than imposing, if that was what she was going for. Again, Darcy wondered if she ought to give the woman some pointers; but then again, she'd obviously already survived several centuries with such a fashion sense, and her mortal target intended to put her out of her misery soon enough.

She moved to the sorceress' side, planting her own hands wide apart and leaning on the railing to imitate the fallen Asgardian, spoke with head still turned away. "No troll this time, no pitiful mortal underling under my sway to enact my plan. You deal with me now, mortal." Amora ended her sentence with a chuckle partly blown away by the wind.

"I fail to see what's so funny," Darcy muttered petulantly.

"Oh, but don't you, mortal? You think you see everything, any possibility of a trap, and yet you are already within my snare. You have been since the beginning. I'm rather astonished at my own ingenuity, actually; I had no idea I could play dumb for as long as I have, and even trick The trickster himself. Laufeyson is in for such a treat." Amora finally turned to face Darcy, one hand moving to twirl a golden lock between her fingers, grinning widely.

Darcy folded her arms, brow furrowed as she tried to decipher the woman's meaning.

"He'll be so proud, I imagine he'll come begging, kneeling before me to plead forgiveness and a place at my side," Amora continued, her voice airy, as if she was lost in a dream.

"Loki has nothing to do with this. Kill me, and let them go." Darcy's voice was flat as she refused to rise to any bait the Enchantress waved in front of her.

"Oh, I don't need to kill you. You're already doing it yourself." Darcy backed up a step, head cocking to the side as something started to make sense.

"You always do prefer "cards on the table", Darcy Lewis, don't you? Isn't that what they say? Loki of Asgard, of Jotunheim – what's he dubbed himself these days, hmm? – has no idea that he is not the only one around to master dreamwalking. My dear Darcy, you are at this moment unconscious, after your attempts to locate me, and I'm walking through your thoughts and mind like a park. I have woven everything you think you're experiencing right now into a tapestry that suits my designs." She abruptly reached out and pushed Darcy, who slammed against the railing, but felt no pain from the impact. "See?"

Darcy's mouth fell open, but was for once in her life, speechless. Had she already lost?

"I don't intend for you to wake from this, but I feel like humoring your pitiful human brain, in its last throes," Amora continued, glee apparent in every syllable she spoke. "Your daughter will follow, abomination that she is to magic. As we speak, my sickness is striking its final blow, impairing your circulatory system, suffocating your brain, and shutting down vital organs. How does it feel?"

Offhandedly, Darcy thought of the connection she and Loki shared. Could he sense any of this? Could he understand what she was hearing, use it to defeat the sorceress somehow? Tapping her fingers on the railing, Darcy repeated in her mind everything Amora had said thus far, hoping it reached somebody, anybody at this point. Then she came back to herself, realizing Amora was impatiently waiting for an answer, and that she had just made a reference to Darcy's illness. She summoned words, feeling hollow but praying they came out nonchalant.

"Death is just another mortal quirk, isn't it, Amora? Do you want to hear that I'm heartbroken, ready to grasp at any chance to see the sunshine again, something poetic like that? Is that why you made me ill? You wanted to break Darcy Lewis, mortal extraordinaire? It took a long, drawn-out plan to do this?"

Amora smiled thinly. "No, I wanted to kill two birds with one stone. Make that three, actually. I'm no longer interested in allying myself with Loki, and Laufeyson won't survive you wasting away, not after all his attempts to the contrary, and your lovely daughter as well. Oh, I know she is not his, now. It matters not. His guilt will kill him, or I will take advantage of his weakness and do it for him."

A burning sensation on her chest distracted Darcy for a moment, who turned back to the view, masking her actions as she touched her fingers to the necklace at her throat, whose gems were gleaming dully. "So tell me," she started quietly. "How did this work? Me getting sick?"

Amora laughed again, both hands returning to the railing and patting out a random rhythm against the metal that wasn't really there.

"I became aware of your survival of my attack several years ago," came the reply, the words suddenly edged with disappointment. "I am not accustomed to failure, so I would not only make you suffer this time, but for a while, until iI could get him to play ball. It took some time to formulate a plan, during which time, Loki thought he had the brilliant plan to play dead amongst the mortals. Hoping he would catch wind of it, I introduced a severe flu to the ranks of SHIELD, something spelled to seek out you in particular. The flu would appear to end, but something wasting would take its place. It would take even more time, but I am obviously nothing if not patient. Would you say this all sounds familiar?" The haughty tones were grating on her nerves, even if she was only in a dreamscape or whatever, and Darcy nodded tiredly, ready to cut to the chase.

"So where are you really, Amora?" She asked dutifully, sighing into the fake wind and letting the words reverberate in her mind. The sorceress snapped her fingers, and the image of the tower faded away, replaced by a clearing in a forest, lit only by moonlight. "Where it all began, Darcy Lewis."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! This chapter was the product of me indulging a lot of feels, and dodging piles of homework.
> 
> I read an interesting remark earlier this week, someone feeling that Thor and Jane are often unfairly bashed in Taserticks fics. I find I sadly agree; I find them pretty adorable myself, and have tried to be sympathetic to their sides of the argument in this piece, hence their now-common inclusion. Plus, Loki needs someone to have his back!
> 
> Influential songs for this week were "Die Alive" by Tarja Turunen, and "Laughter Lines" by Bastille.
> 
> Thanks again for reading, guys. Thanks so very much. P.S. There may or may not be another oneshot in the works.

When the girls were eight and four years old, a much-loved aunt of Darcy's had passed away. She had been consulting a lawyer about divorce, diving into work at SHIELD to avoid Ian at home, and more stressed than she had been in a long time, and then, that. The entire family had attended her funeral, despite Darcy and Ian's relationship being very much on the rocks; grief had united them all like a glue, for those several days of mourning.

There had been a private viewing of the body the day before the actual funeral, and Darcy had attended alone, leaving Ian at a park nearby with their daughters. Her aunt's body was clad in a pale pink gown, as she would be dressed more classily for the ceremony and interment tomorrow. The color, harmless though the caretakers or whomever had thought, only served to highlight the pallor of death coloring Aunt Beverly's skin, Darcy had thought gloomily. And her hands; though many preservation methods were employed in embalming these days, they could never quite manage the blackening of extremities like the ears, toes…fingers.

Her aunt's hands, clasped so primly across her middle, though not by her own volition, were a source of morbid fascination for Darcy. Makeup and chemicals could do anything they liked to retain that semblance of her aunt still living, just sleeping, but Darcy emerged from the viewing room quaking and unable to shake blackened fingers from her mind.

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The unease she felt whenever she looked at her own hands now was likely an echo of that experience, of facing death, of defying it with chemicals that painted the body in denial, but never really defeating it. Darcy heaved another sigh, hunching her shoulders against the chilly environment of the forest, hands raised in front of her face. Even within this dream, or whatever it was, her hands showed the same symptoms as in her waking hours, murky bruising spreading to encompass each fingertip in entirety now. Was she dead? Dying? How would she know? Amora had insinuated she would feel nothing until the end, and she did feel nothing, except…Wait. Cold, suddenly.

In fact, it was growing colder by the minute, and a wetness seeping into her clothes made her look up at the sky, to see if it was raining in this contrived land of Amora's. The witch herself had stopped her villainous monologue some time ago, much to the relief of Darcy, who would much rather have died on the spot than listen to the gloatings of a raving-mad bitch.

The sorceress herself gave a sudden, indignant gasp, jerking Darcy's attention back to her. She followed the Asgardian's gaze to her own person, and looking down, stared blankly at the crimson splotches now covering her torso. Liquid tickled the skin of her face as it slid down and over her lips. Was the illusion…breaking?

"What is this?" The blonde hissed, cocking her head to the side and snapping her fingers. When nothing happened, and Darcy grew colder, her stance wavering, Amora's glance widened humorously in realization, her head jerking around as she sought the source of her problem. "That half-breed bastard-" And then the Enchantress was cut off as she disappeared, the forest around them disappeared, Darcy's own senses cut off one by one until there was just a blank darkness.

"What's he doing?"

"I am not certain Jane, but he is likely trying to reach her through his magic. Their bond is stronger than any of us understand."

"She should be in a hospital, Thor, I think she's really dying-" Jane's voice cut off with a choked sob, and she pinched her lips together tightly, trying not to let it loose.

"I think you know, Jane, I think we all know it is far too late for that. Midgardian healers, no matter how proficient, cannot cure this ailment." Thor's bass tones were gentle, patient, the voice he adopted whenever he was explaining an obscure Asgardian custom or astronomical anomaly to her. It was usually soothing, comforting, but the resignation in every word clenched at her heart like a fist.

Darcy Lewis dying was unfathomable, as unnatural as a fish living in the desert or a crow wearing a top hat. They'd lost Erik Selvig years ago, and Darcy was all that remained of Jane's old life, of New Mexico and dinners of cereal with a hefty side of stargazing. She couldn't deal with losing her too.

"Can't we do something? Your mother, I'm sure she'd defy Odin for something this important."

The cerulean eyes she loved so much lowered to his hands, linked loosely in his lap. "It was not my father's decree that she not come to aid us. She told me herself that Darcy's fate is already written, that she has seen it already and cannot interfere."

"So, what, fate's book is written in sharpie and even Frigga's only got a pencil?" Jane huffed to herself, one knee bouncing jerkily from where she sat stiffly upright in another chair, watching the pair at the far end of the chamber.

Darcy had collapsed into Loki's arms after her incoherent mutterings on the roof, and the amount of blood streaming from her nose had only stemmed after a quick spell from the mischief god. They couldn't tell what had caused it, though there was something tangible in the air, a sensation that signaled magic was involved, to Jane. No one had spoken as Loki had hefted Darcy like she weighed nothing, which was likely, and brought her back inside, to the conference room they'd claimed earlier. He'd laid Jane's unconscious best friend on a table against the far wall, and hadn't addressed her or Thor since.

Jane had watched him lay a palm across Darcy's pale forehead, muttering furiously, seen him lean forward to whisper in her ear, hell, she'd even seen Loki chafe Darcy's wrists, like she was an eighteenth-century damsel who'd swooned during afternoon tea. It all seemed to be to no effect, and she now dully watched as he held Darcy's necklace in one hand, eyes clamped shut and lips only moving for an occasional mutter in something akin to Latin.

Whatever it was, she hoped it worked. She wasn't sure what could heal Darcy at this point, what could even keep her alive for another hour, but if anyone could survive this madness, it was Darcy Lewis. Surprisingly extraordinary, despite her distinct ordinariness, her love of terrible old westerns, pistachio ice cream, and long walks.

Jane rubbed her shoulders with hands that twitched to be doing something, anything, and she looked around for a notepad, for something to scribble on so she could do something. But there was nothing to do but wait, and hope, and her hands dropped to her lap limply. A moment later, warmth bloomed in her right hand, and she looked to see Thor had taken it in his own, thumb rubbing against the back of her palm with a gentleness that contradicted the strength that wielded Mjölnir. She smiled, curling her fingers in his and hoping the presence of demigods would lend her pleas validity.

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"I don't care what the price is, wearing Amora's attire for a week, slaughtering a thousand goats in supplication, kneeling to a horde of mortal politicians, to Odin himself, imprisonment for eternity…I'll do it, I swear I will, and I'll hand-deliver some gift of thanks to the Norns…Some sort of cosmic fruit basket. What says 'Thank you for sparing my beloved' to a trio of aged hags? Would that you were conscious right now, you would certainly have a suggestion…"

Regaining consciousness to that bizarre rambling in a familiar accent, Darcy blinked and shook her head, first mentally, and then physically. Sounded like a conversation with herself, after several shots of some sort of liquor.

After fifteen more blinks, she realized she was reclining on something, facing a high-vaulted ceiling above her. The stone looked immaculate, smooth and highly polished, and she wondered who had the job of getting on a thirty foot-tall ladder and maintaining it. Her eyes roved to an arched support beam, gilded with delicately-shaped gold trim, and she wondered who had the money to make their walls golden.

Finally returning to herself, she evaluated her own condition. Swallowing, she noted a parched throat and chapped lips. Turning her head side to side, her neck seemed to be unbroken, so that was a plus, and her hair didn't feel caked with blood that was crusting her bangs to her temple. Another plus, although it alluded to the fact that wherever she was, it wasn't real either. She definitely knew she was lying blood-soaked somewhere.

Groaning weakly, she pulled herself to a sitting position, nearly toppling from her perch. The muttering she'd heard stopped abruptly, on a sharp intake of breath by the speaker. She ignored it for the moment, examining her situation. She was on a chaise lounge of some sort, the satin fabric a pale gold. Her legs felt oddly restrained, and she looked down at her own person, biting her lips to keep from laughing. She was wearing a dress, of all things. Nothing she owned, nothing the likes of which she'd ever been in the same room as, not even her wedding dress. It was a full-length, flowing garment that looked as if the tag would be stamped with a royal seal of approval as ballroom attire. It was emerald green, the neckline a strapless sweetheart cut, making her décolletage look amazing, her necklace sparkling at her cleavage. The torso was tightly corseted, explaining her difficulty in sitting up, but the skirt flowed from her hips in silky ripples, making her feel like a diva from the nineteen-twenties.

"Ohhh-ho, this is good," she murmured aloud, running her hands down the silk covering her ribs. "I do good dreams."

"Actually, this is of my making, not yours. Apologies, but you are scarcely clad in flattering garments these days, not that anyone could blame you. I thought it would be a nice reprieve, and you look ravishing in that color." He was doing a great job at covering up the fact he'd just been alternately ranting and praying like a desperate lunatic.

"Damn, and just when I thought I was in control of my own situation," she whined in annoyed realization. "And could you have managed to make that sound any creepier? Like you literally dressed my nude unconscious body, that's sexy, yep."

Puffing her mouth in an indignant pout, she levered her hands against her seat, angling her body towards the god at the far side of the room, who didn't reply. He was leaned against the shutter of a bay window as tall as him, one leg crossed over the other and arms braced against the wood as if he needed to hold himself up. Probably did, since he looked as tired as she'd ever seen him, and even his usual armor looked beaten down and dusty. Attention wandering, she wondered what was out the window at his back, but the décor clicked into place, and she surmised this was an illusion of chambers he frequented in Asgard. Probably a stellar view of a fountain of gold or something out there.

"I was never a fan of the movie Inception," she shot into the space between them, folding her own arms over her chest and enjoying the way his gaze lowered briefly. "Dreams within dreams make for a terrible plot, and I object to living out said plot in some twisted game between Asgardian sorcerers, quite frankly." Her words were sharp, her feigned outrage making her feel more in control, more Darcyesque for the moment, and his eyes rose hesitantly to meet hers. "I don't want to be yanked between dream worlds in some sad attempt to preserve my life, Loki. But, barring your insane rambling I just heard, and unsavory commentary on my now-typical sick person sweater attire, I love the dress. And that wallpaper."

His response was to incline his head, raising his hands to spread them in front of his chest in a shrug showing his desperation. "I know not what to do, anymore," he whispered, but she could somehow hear him across the room. "I think you knew I could sense a bit of what was happening, the trap Amora had laid, luckily. It took a long time and complex spells but I was able to spirit you away, here. But this is…This is temporary, not real, you cannot live in this creation. And your body is giving out."

She arched a brow. Couldn't be any more succinct. "So what am I doing here? What's sustaining me?"

"I do not know. And I realize I am delaying the inevitable, but I cannot let you die, not if there is some scrap of hope in the universe that you might be saved. This is my fault, it was all along, and if I have not yet paid sufficient penance for my wrongs, I would gladly do so with my life, my magic, anything but you."

"What are these self-chastising speeches, Loki? This isn't you, and I'd hate to think I've done this to you, you and your badass image that has survived centuries. You think I'm cashing a check you wrote years ago, with my life? Not everything's about you, big guy," Darcy said, rising to her feet with minimal stumbling. The plush carpet felt amazing, and she savored the sensation of it against her bare feet, crinkling her toes in the material absently as she maintained her spot. "There's a whole circle of life, yadda yadda, isn't that right? And I've got a place in it and insert more deep thoughts here, but the end result is I die. Whether it was twenty years ago in a car accident or it would have been in forty years from a heart attack, I'm mortal, and you've got to accept this."

He was like a child whose favorite toy was being denied him, folding his own arms with a mulish expression on his face. "In forty years, then, and no sooner," came the reply, declared with defiant conviction, his presence brightening by the second as he latched onto her words. "And you'll have to marry me."

Her jaw fell open, and hung open for several moments. She just stared around the room, brows half-raised, eyes falling on a golden chalice sitting on a nearby table. Her eyes traced the intricate etchings and wrought metal covering its surface unseeing, as she tried to absorb what Loki, of Asgard, of Jotunheim, of his own LokiLand, was saying.

"It's quite simple really, and a procedure you've been through before, though I think for the wrong reasons." He spoke again, with a very Lokiesque slyness that made her want to throttle him on the spot, and Darcy finally moved, starting to pace in a pattern that traced the designs on the carpet. It made her look ridiculous, but her mind was as jumbled as her steps. "I will even call myself Loki Lewis, if it pleases you, cast aside any and all potentially nefarious schemes, give up the mantle of mischief. Naturally, you'll have to survive, and hold me to my word."

His last sentence was a challenge voiced so smugly that she was about to laugh and render her indignation futile. Loki Lewis. Instead, she flung herself around to face him, hands moving to rake through the immaculate ringlets she was somehow sporting. She was angry, of all things, that his offer would come at such a time. It was almost comical, her luck. "Y-you can't just, you can't just fling a proposal at me when I'm in this weird prelude to the afterlife, I'm not even really here, right, and what, my daughter could be dying, I, you think I…"

"A simple acceptance would suffice," Loki's amused voice came from behind her, and she whipped around to find him right up in her face, green eyes alight with purpose. "Agree to fight, agree to live, agree to stay with me forever," he said softly, hands raising to cup her cheeks.

Who could say no to that? But her eyes narrowed in a twitchy movement, flitting from side to side under his intense scrutiny. Darcy Lewis was always the one to ruin "the moment".

"Besides the obvious life-and-death struggle with an enemy sorceress at hand and my family's lives hanging in the balance, I'm…old." Her voice dropped, making the last word nearly inaudible, and suddenly Loki's lips were on hers. She surrendered without thought, warmed despite the ever-constant chill to his skin, and forgot everything for a moment but the familiar taste of him, rain and mint mingling pleasantly.

When she was released, gasping, he was smiling thinly, pressing his forehead to hers. "I ought to be offended, I suppose," he mused aloud. "For if you, with your few decades of age, are old, I am…Categorically prehistoric?"

She swatted at his arms, caging her, and backed away. "Few decades, haha. Whatever. The answer's yes and it always would have been, but I'm still dying, Sir," she said flatly, as if pointing out the toaster was broken, but despite her tone, Loki's face lit up like it was Christmas. "Denial is not just a river in Egypt," she added, shaking her head.

There were more important mattes at hand, though, she had to remember, and she clapped her hands, all business. Snapping her fingers at Loki to gain his still widely-grinning attention, she cleared her throat loudly. "Now, where am I right now?" His brow arched, and she fluttered a hand to silence him. "I mean my actual body. Are we still at SHIELD? Were we ever? I'm a little justifiably fuzzy on the details, seeing as I passed into a comatose state at some point tonight, or yesterday, or whenever."

"We're at SHIELD," Loki responded, eyes roving around the room. "I stopped the bleeding, but…Your pulse, it stutters like Thor attempting to answer a question that does not end in yes or no. I feel useless."

"Well, I'm apparently still breathing, so don't be too hard on yourself," Darcy soothed, pacing past him and running a hand down his metal-clad forearm. "Who needs a steady pulse anyways?"

"It's essential for-" Loki cut off as he grasped her sarcasm, turning to watch her resume her pacing. "Never mind. Did your sojourn with the witch garner any clues as to her plan? It was a bit like a static-filled connection, between our minds, and I couldn't grasp much."

Darcy's pacing paused, her mind lingering on Amora's words: Laufeyson won't survive you wasting away, not after all his attempts to the contrary. Two birds with one stone. She shoved the memory away. Pivoting, she frowned at Loki, trying to think.

"Well, she's holed up somewhere in the Northwest Territories. Remember that mission?" She started, and as Loki's expression darkened in comprehension, she waved at him to regain his focus. "She's super clichéd even if she doesn't think she is, and thinks she'll entice whoever's left on Team Darcy into some dramatic final confrontation. Funny thing is, only I know where she is, right now. She likely expects you to exhaust yourself both trying to heal me, and track her with a spell. She means to kill Alice, and I can only hope she's waiting for there to be a witness who matters."

Loki nodded, glancing absently at his gauntleted forearm. "She has not been harmed, not yet. I would know."

"Because of the super-powered jewelry?" When he nodded, Darcy shook her head, brows raised. "You should consider opening a boutique. People would go nuts for a hybrid of both fashion and functionality!" Her imitation of an old infomercial, complete with hand gestures, made him smile, and she needed that. Needed people to respond to the most terrible of her humor, the sort that only came out when the danger at hand was even worse. Calmed, her lips twitched into a half-smile of her own as she came to back to the matter at hand.

"So, hypothetically, would it be possible to transport me while in this state?" She posed the question with her hands on her hips, facing him directly. Blue met green until green wavered, looked down towards the carpet. "I'm not certain. It's not as if it could do much more harm, I daresay, however…What do you have in mind?"

"Ride out and meet her." Darcy fist-pumped in her mind, quoting nearly spot-on one of her favorite Tolkien movies. She'd always wanted to be the hero in one of those, who came out on top, armor glistening with blood but their fabulous mane of hair looking better than ever, sword held aloft with the glee of victory. She'd figured herself too old to even watch those movies, when she'd been first bedridden.

"I beg your pardon? Ride?"

"Just an expression," she said dismissively, a hand on her chin and a bare foot tapping pensively against the floor, managing not to catch on the flawless material of her skirts. "She'll be expecting someone, you, likely, to pop in place in front of her. She's probably got a spot marked in chalk, the way she seems to work, everything moving to her strings. So take mortal means, you, Thor, and Jane, drive out to those woods. Find her. Have me stuffed in the trunk or something, it doesn't matter, but I feel like she's fully expecting me to be dead or completely out of commission at this point. I may be the latter, but this-" she gestured to the room he'd conjured around them "-is out of left field, judging by her face before I blacked out. If something is preserving me – ugh, I sound like a pickle or something – I think I should be, uh, around." Darcy grimaced, realizing how insane she was starting to sound.

Loki suddenly started laughing, nearly doubling over in a matter of seconds. Straightening to see Darcy's alarmed expression, he started anew.

"You simply never cease to surprise me," he started. "It feels as if we are closeted in a chamber reserved for the war council, and yet, it is what it is." He shook his head, running a hand through his hair and starting to wander around the room himself.

"Yes, I realize I should be dead and bla bla bla, as we have addressed," Darcy began, miffed, "but why not use your super-secret dream room thing to plan? I clearly have nothing better to do, and you needed what I've seen. Stop making fun of me!" He fully expect her to stomp her foot to punctuate, but she surprisingly refrained.

Sobering, Loki stopped, resting his hands across the back of a chair, the picture of intent listening.

"Another thing," Darcy said, biting her lip. "No more healing magic." When he opened his mouth to argue, she made a pinching movement with her left hand, forestalling his response. "It's a waste of magic, and I think whatever's going to happen is going to happen, despite your best intentions. So lay off the voodoo, and just focus on being at full strength to get my daughter back, Loki. And don't you go leaving Ian in the woods to die, either, if possible. I've wronged him in like eighty ways and I don't think he should die as a result of my intergalactic fire-stoking."

"Perhaps I ought to take notes? Make a to-do list?"

She hopped in place, glaring. "It's not my choice to not be out there fighting too! You can't understand how helpless-" She bit off the words at the look on his face, flapping her hands up and down in a soothing motion. "Okay, okay, okay. And now, you have real life to get back to – man, that sounds weird – so I'll leave you to it and like, take a nap or something." She turned, trudging towards the chaise lounge to flop herself on it, but a cold, gentle grip on her upper arm stopped her.

She turned, not meeting his gaze until his hand tilted her chin upwards, spilling the tears gathered in her eyes. His own were hooded as he gazed down at her, the backs of his fingers brushed against her cheek softly. His other hand went to her waist, tugging her closer, and she collapsed into his embrace, arms pulling him down to her height so she could muffle her sobs against his neck.

"I promise, I will make this right," he assured her, lips pressed to her hair. She flinched at that, shaking her head slightly, but he tightened his grip on her. "She won't win. I am Loki, of Asgard."

She pulled back, fighting not to smile, her face tear-streaked. "I feel like I'm pregnant again," she muttered, wiping at her eyes. "Like random fits of bawling will solve anything, and end with me being served a dish of chocolate ice cream with a pickle for garnish." Loki seemed to miss the reference, but she inhaled deeply, determined not to be weak again.

"I really hope the passage of time is a little skewed here," she said, a thought hitting her. "Because I feel like I've wasted a ton. You'll, uh, vanish when you wake up or whatever?"

"Yes, but a thread of magic should keep this setting as it is. She won't get to you again." His tone brokered no argument, and she nodded, sinking onto the plush cushions. "I'll try to, uh, wake myself up."

He looked ready to say that was impossible, but then conceded with a strange little nod to himself.

"I'll return," he promised, moving forward to thoroughly kiss her again. He disappeared with his lips still against hers, making his absence all the more distinct. Darcy's hand came to her mouth, hoping he wouldn't do anything foolish.

She tried to busy herself as best she could with minimal space and no reading material, and practiced a meditation technique she'd learned in the hospital for several moments, before growing bored. She decided to head to the window, wondering if this was like a movie set and if she peered past the edge, everything would be a two-dimensional poster angled just so it would appear real. Much to her amusement, and later, annoyance, she couldn't get to the window. It was like in a video game, where the little player simply couldn't get to certain parts of a level, where the territory was unmapped, so to speak. Stupid magic rules, stupid magical wonderful sorta fiancee that she now had.

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Jane jerked awake as every single light in the room flicked on at once, blinding her and Thor with dazzling brightness. "Wh-" She started, Thor similarly eloquent beside her as he rose from his own chair to watch Loki's frenzied movements. He was flicking his wrists and making complicated gestures, sparks and flashes of magic bursting around the room in all colors of the rainbow.

After a moment of staring, Thor spoke. "News, brother?"

"We must move, and quickly," Loki announced, batting at a multicolored ball of light that was floating around him and moving to check the pulse as Darcy's wrist. His gaze was brighter, determination renewed, shoulders unslouched for the first time since Darcy had fallen unconscious.

Jane moved closer and peered at the orb until she noticed the miniature lines dashing back and forth across the surface; it was some sort of vital sign monitor. It was absolutely fascinating, her mind immediately setting itself to decipher how he'd conceived such a spell. She had to consciously stop, her eyes moving to check on her limp friend, but she saw absolutely no change in Darcy's slack form, despite Loki's sudden exuberance.

Loki was muttering hurried instructions to Thor, something about a vehicle, or requesting a chopper from Director Hill. Then his trenchcoat was shoved in Jane's face, as he instructed her to carefully wrap it around Darcy, and to watch for any more bleeding.

He seemed…so strangely energized, twitching with movement like he'd just done a line of cocaine or something, which Jane fervently hoped was not the case. Moving to Darcy's side, she frowned at the tabletop. Couldn't be comfortable. Lifting her friends head, which rolled sickeningly to the side with ease, she managed to get the coat on her, more or less, tucking the edges around her gingerly before letting her lay flat again. It was too creepy, she was far too lifeless to be Darcy right now.

In a way, she wasn't. Darcy was an incalculable distance away, screaming to herself in the silence of a dream world, though Jane couldn't know that yet.

Sheathing a dagger, Loki moved to Jane, nodding in thanks before lifting Darcy like an over-sized doll again, inclining his head to direct Jane in front of him.

"Loki, I don't understand. She probably shouldn't be moved, what are we doing?" Jane refused to budge, a hand on her hip, ready to defend Darcy if the woman herself couldn't.

"I assure you, Jane, I have always had her best interests at heart," Loki replied with a forced calm. "Now, if you please, out to the vehicle Thor has hopefully procured."

Jane's phone rang abruptly, and she noted Anna's name on the caller ID, veins filling with guilt before she answered as she walked. "Anna? Hi, are you alright? Oh yes, she's-" Jane hazarded a glance at the woman in Loki's arms "-she's fine, uh huh. Yes, can't really talk right now. I promise when this is all over, we'll have coffee and I'll tell you anything you want to know. I know, I know Steve's a little weird, but he's the only one we can trust right now. Yep. Uh, try to have a conversation about spandex or something, that'll give you a laugh. Promise. Okay, bye now!"

She hurriedly set the phone back to sleep, gritting her teeth in worry. How would she explain to this girl that her entire family was in grave danger right now? She'd hurriedly called the never-aged Steve Rogers before Darcy and Loki had joined them, at Darcy's behest, explaining nothing but that Darcy's daughter was in danger, hoping they could stash Anna in his apartment. The poor guy had only just caught up to the pop culture of the early 2000's, so Jane and Darcy got along with him better than ever, and so Darcy's daughters were another case entirely. But there was nowhere else, and Steve's manners had kept him from prying, the mention of Darcy enough to persuade him of anything. He was crazy fond of the Lewis woman, like everyone was, except for this alien blonde bitch who wanted her dead, of course…Jane shook her head, shocked when the walk outside showed black SUV waiting.

"Who's driving?" she demanded, blanching, but Loki brushed past, opening the door from ten feet away and without a hand gesture; she was impressed. When he had arranged Darcy in the back seat as carefully as he could, he retreated, waving Jane into the back beside her. "If you please, Jane, we must hurry."

As she shut the door behind her and buckled herself in, Jane caught Loki swinging himself into the passenger seat, Thor in the driver's. In his defense, her husband was a much better driver now than twenty years earlier. He no longer wrenched the wheel off when he made a turn. Still, Jane settled in for a bumpy ride, brushing Darcy's hair from her face and fiddling with the backseat climate control knobs, making sure she wasn't shivering or anything.

Twenty minutes onto the road, Thor was topping seventy miles an hour, taking turns that Loki pointed out to him. In between directions, the two seemed to be in conference, Thor showing a suddenly remarkable aptitude for multitasking that was nonexistent when he was eating or watching television. Jane didn't appreciate the secrecy.

"Where are we going, Loki?" she finally asked, completely confused.

"Canada." Was the only reply, and suddenly, things made a little more sense. Darcy had first met the sorceress there, right? Was there some sort of lair? And what her friend's dying body was doing accompanying them, she was still in the dark about. The last thing they should be doing was bringing Darcy straight to Amora. Huffing, Jane decided to wait a few hundred more miles before asking another question.

As it turned out, the one-hundred-eighty mile mark was the magic number. The SUV interior had fallen silent, Thor giving the advanced cruise control system the occasional command. Jane had been thumbing through her phone, wondering if they would die at the hands of this sorceress whom they really didn't have much intel on, wondering if she ought to email a will or something to anyone, when she felt it.

An arm had moved, flopping from across Darcy's midsection to splay across the seat between them, just brushing Jane's hip. She squawked in fright at the movement, garnering the attention of the two Asgardians sitting up front, but she ignored them. She could have sworn she heard something murmured, something like "room", from the woman next to her, but there was no trace of movement, speech or otherwise, when she leaned over to check on Darcy. She was just as pale and unresponsive as ever, her pulse a weak fluttering when Jane pressed two fingers to her neck, the movement making her necklace shimmer slightly in the dim car cabin.

There was just the limp limb between them, and Jane carefully tucked it back across Darcy's waist, patting it gently. Loki turned back to the front, brows furrowed in thought, and Jane settled back into her seat, uneasily watching the scenery flitting past.

When she checked on Darcy again, there was a bit of blood seeping from her nose again, which Jane dabbed at, but her movements halted when she noticed Darcy's lax hand now clenched into a fist. She was still there, and Jane smiled in the dark.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another project now in the works, too, but I can't decide whether to try another serial or make it a long, resolved oneshot...
> 
> Influential song for this week was "Hymn for the Missing" by Red.
> 
> Thanks to my consistent reviewers and everyone who has faved, followed, or otherwise hit this story!

Alice was six years old again, accompanying her mother as she ran household errands on a Sunday afternoon. Her two year-old sister Anna was at the doctor's office with her father; she'd come down with a whooping cough. That was okay; Alice had always enjoyed spending time alone with her mother, who knew best how to deal with her…episodes, when they happened, and never made her feel bad about it. Not that her father did, he was just easily exasperated.

It had started when she was an infant, apparently; she would make grabby hands at random objects in the room, things on a shelf or that her mother was holding, and sometimes they'd fall, other times they'd come to her. As a toddler, nothing could be locked up tightly enough; Alice would get a hold of it, inexplicably. It was just how things were, and Darcy and Ian did the best they could to conceal such odd occurrences when in public or having guests over.

This time was a rainy afternoon, the torrential downpour outside so strong that it was difficult to see through the sheets of moisture. Alice was decked out in her pink raincoat and matching rain boots, toddling alongside Darcy, who was trying to juggle Alice's hand, a grocery bag, and still hold her phone to her ear.

She finally gave up when they were passing by one of Alice's favorite parks; the playground was sheltered from the rain, so Darcy turned in and let Alice loose. Calling to her to keep in sight, she immediately cupped her free hand to her other ear as she tried to translate a rambling mission update from Steve, nice and dry within SHIELD headquarters. She edged under a towering elm to avoid the rainfall, occasionally glancing back towards Alice as she frolicked.

The six year-old was having a grand time, playing tag with several of the other kids on a jungle gym. Pursued by the "it" boy, Alice found herself on the top level of the play structure, cornered. To her back was a monkey bar, strategically laid across a gap so that older children could swing from it onto a row of bars elevated some ten feet from the ground. She was about to be tagged by the grinning little boy when she slipped on part of the plastic, toppling towards the opening that would send her falling ten feet to the rough, gravel-strewn ground.

With a little wail, Alice closed her eyes, and one small popping noise later, found herself not falling to the ground, but across the park, nestled in the crotch of an elm tree. She could see the playground from here, the puzzled little boy still standing with his hand outstretched. Whimpering, she looked down, beginning a frantic attempt to scramble down the tree trunk that ended with her still high above the ground, the slippery bark proving unreliable.

Moments later, a few children had already noticed her, in her bright pink coat, and were starting to surround the tree, frightened but curious. One had cried the word "witch", and the others quickly latched onto the idea, encouraged by the arrival of the boy who had tried to tag her. They were soon chanting, and giggling among themselves at her plight.

Her mother was nowhere in sight, and Alice started to cry in earnest, her hands unable to find purchase on the damp bark, the other children's taunts ringing in her ears. Her long dark hair had fallen in her face, tears plastering the strands to her cheeks more firmly, and she swiped a small hand across her face futilely, sniffling loudly. The rain had resumed with vigor, pelting the canopy above her and dripping down the bark she clung to.

A deep male voice caught her attention, shooing away the children gathering at the base of the tree. A man had appeared, clad in a long, charcoal-colored wool coat topped with a checkered scarf, and he sharply reprimanded a pair of boys who had lingered to point and laugh at Alice. They scampered off, pulling faces, but the man was now at the base of the tree, face upturned and expression concerned.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly, apparently unconcerned by the fat water droplets hitting his exposed face. His voice sounded funny to her, almost like Daddy's way of talking, but...Nicer. Alice nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again, confused as to whether or not she should speak to the stranger. A loud sneeze wracked her form from her perch in the tree, and she wobbled precariously with the movement, wailing loudly. The man bit his lip, eyeing the tree and swiping a dark lock of hair back from his face.

"What's your name?" He asked gently.

"A…Alice," the girl whimpered, rubbing a small fist at her eye and trying not to cry more. The man's face split into a wide grin of acknowledgement, his head bowing for a moment.

"Well, Alice, my name's Loki," the man then said, removing the scarf from around his neck. "I bet you'd like down from this tree." Alice nodded, sniffling loudly and trying to stay still. "Would you like me to help you?" The little girl scrunched up her face in thought, looking around for Darcy, who was still nowhere in sight.

"Mommy's using her important phone and saving the world," Alice mumbled with a frown, conceding that her mother probably hadn't noticed she was gone; she tended to forget everything when her SHIELD-issued cell was at her ear.

The man nodded thoughtfully, waiting for a response. "Please," came the small voice finally, the pink raincoat shifting in the tree above him as she tried to turn towards him.

"I've got a favor to ask – would you hold this for me?" He asked softly, holding his balled-up scarf aloft. She nodded, and Loki carefully tossed the long scarf up at Alice, who caught it in one hand.

It was remarkably warm and dry, and the little girl crushed the lengths to her face, comforted, as Loki started to climb towards her, long legs helping one arm propel him upwards. Within ten seconds he was at the junction of branches that held her, easily hanging on with one arm and opening the other. "Here, I've got you." Alice only hesitated a moment before letting go of the tree trunk and latching onto Loki, who curled his arm firmly around her. She missed the sadness that flickered across his face, burying her face in his neck instead as he simply let go, dropping to the ground effortlessly.

Untangling the young girl's arms from around his neck, Loki knelt before her on the wet cement of the park pathway. "There, you're safe now. I think your mother's worried about you, here she comes." Alice proffered the scarf, but he shook his head, smiling. He had pretty eyes. "No, I think you had better keep it."

"Thank you, Loki," said Alice, fumbling with the strange name. Regret tinged his face as Loki raised a hand to pat her shoulder. "Never be afraid of what you can do, Alice." The same hand then passed over her head, smoothing the soaked black locks back from her face. A dreamy expression washed over the girl's face, and then he was gone.

"Alice! I was so worried-" Darcy's voice reached her child, who turned and happily dashed into her mother's arms. "What happened, honey?"

"We played hide-and-seek," replied the young girl, her expression slightly dazed. "I won!" She snuggled into Darcy's side as her mother straightened, eyeing the scarf in her daughter's hand that looked as though it would belong to a man. Expensive cashmere, she noted absently, pulling the bunched material from Alice's hands, who promptly protested, saying she'd found it and it was special.

Darcy raised a brow, eyeing the material, lightly scented with a cologne that was vaguely familiar. She shrugged it off, still thinking about the mission she was planning, and coiled it around the little girl's neck with a sigh, taking her by the hand to lead her home.

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Ebony lashes, bare of makeup for once, parted to allow emerald orbs a glimpse of her surroundings. They were unfamiliar, and she jerked to a sitting position, remembering the dream she'd just had. Something was weird about it, like it had been far too drawn-out and thoughtful for a dream. It had felt...deliberate, but real, believable.

"I didn't know that happened," she muttered to herself, fisting a hand in her hair. "Get out of my head!" She screamed, at the witch standing across the expansive room. Alice didn't know much, just that her own father had for some reason kidnapped her, at the behest of this woman. He wasn't himself, his gaze was clouded and unsteady, and he was at this moment standing almost at attention near the blonde sorceress, just…waiting.

"You will be silent, mortal," came the snarled reply, as Amora eyed a swirling ball of energy floating in front of her.

Alice grimaced at a twinge in her arm and looked down at it, shocked to see the black markings much diminished, and the wound nearly healed beneath the ragged bandage. Her bracelet was glinting innocently even in the dim light, and she smirked to herself, pulled the bandage back over it and faking a wince. She hadn't been conscious for long bouts since her abduction, and she looked around, trying to get her bearings. It looked like a defunct storage facility or something, all concrete walls and flooring and very few lights. The slightest noise echoed, and it was freezing cold on the bench she'd been sprawled across.

A huff from across the room raised her head, and she set her jaw, arms folded across her chest. "Something wrong?"

"Si. Lence. Human. Or should I say abomination?" Amora commanded, drawing out the syllables as a somehow immaculately-manicured hand tapped against her chin. "You should not even be conscious," she tacked on in a mutter to herself, pacing to and fro past Ian's blank stare.

Alice complied, content to absorb the memory she'd just uncovered, buried in her subconscious and altered by magic. Propping herself against the wall, she brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She needed a shower, needed coffee, needed out of this nightmare that had somehow ensnared her family. Armed with the knowledge she'd known Loki for far longer than she thought, she was emboldened, convinced there was something she could do to stop Amora. She'd always known she was different, but with adolescence and maturity had come a control over the odd things that had used to happen to her, until she'd all but forgotten them altogether. Now she had a concrete inkling of how she had become so different from other children, even her own sister.

Startled out of her reverie by a shadow falling across her sight, Alice looked up to see Ian, proffering a bottle of water. He seemed to be allowed parts of his personality intermittently, or was fighting the witch's powers, and the thought comforted Alice. She accepted the bottle with thanks; her throat was parched and while she was starving, this was better than nothing. Her father joined her on the bench, Amora having strutted out of the room muttering to herself.

"Why are we in the middle of nowhere?" Alice asked aloud, water bottle tapping against her knee. "Why doesn't she brainwash an army and overtake a major city or something?"

"That plan has not worked well for villains in the past," her father observed drily, to Alice's surprise. She cut him a sideways look; he looked exhausted and tense. "Amora's power is tied up elsewhere right now, anyways. That will come later." He returned Alice's look, shifting closer furtively.

"The doorway on your right leads to a staircase that leads straight down and to a back door of this facility," he muttered. He started removing his heavy jacket, placing it around his daughter's shoulders with a gentleness that had been missing when he'd stabbed her doctor with a scalpel and torn her from her hospital bed. She shuddered at that memory, shoving it aside to be dealt with later, and focusing on his strange actions at the moment.

"What are you doing?" She asked, gratefully tugging the jacket's sleeves down her slender arms.

"She's multitasking, magically," Ian managed, sounding like it was becoming more difficult to speak. "She's not used to it, and to the resistance she's encountering in each case. If I try hard enough, I'm myself, for a bit." He gasped in a pained breath, rubbing at his temple before taking Alice by the shoulders. "Get away," he enunciated. "Get to the woods. I'm sure someone's coming for you." His grip tightened painfully on her shoulders for a moment before relaxing, and he took a deep breath.

Alice searched his gaze, frightened for his own safety. "I'm not leaving you," she declared, and his eyes narrowed. "Yes, you are," he ground out. "You're my daughter and I'm not going to see you hurt any more."

"But she'll-"

"It doesn't matter what she does to me, Alice. You get out of here, as fast as you can. Your color is improving and you seem stronger, and it's only a matter of time before she notices." An echoing curse reached their ears from what seemed like several rooms away, and the lights flickered; the sorceress' frustration was mounting at something.

Ian rose to his feet, pulling Alice with him and shoving her lightly in the direction of the doorway he'd indicated. "I don't have much time," he whispered weakly, wavering on his feet. "While I can still fight her-"

Alice bowed her head, making a snap decision to obey. She would get him out of this, when help arrived. Throwing her arms around his neck, she pressed a kiss to her father's cheek, telling him she loved him, and then she was in the stairwell, attempting silence on the stony steps. She was still in days-old clothes and sneakers, but the jacket definitely helped fight the frigid temperatures.

A sudden fear struck, that Amora could track her, do some sort of witchy voodoo to find her once Alice hit the woods, and that spurred her on. She hit the ground floor of whatever old building they were in, darting for an old metal door marked "exit" in faded white paint. It took a moment, but she finally muscled the rusted latch into compliance, stepping out into what looked like late-afternoon light, overshadowed by heavy cloud cover.

She could be anywhere; the woods were no giveaway, but she headed for them anyways, sprinting as best she could on little nourishment and aching muscles. Ten paces into the tree line, something pulsed through the air, something palpable that shot into the forest and shook the trees, knocking the wind out of her as Alice fell to the ground. "I hate magic," she groaned aloud, picking herself up and winding her way deeper into the forest.

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"I hate magic," Darcy Lewis complained, fisting both hands in her hair and pulling anxiously at the strands. She'd been alternately shrieking, mumbling, telling jokes to the air, and cursing Loki for what felt like several hours. At one point her dream-self had even taken a nap, and that concept was a box she was not going to delve into the physics of anytime soon. All she knew was, she felt like a doll shoved in a drawer, broken and of no use, unaware of anything going on outside of that drawer.

Catching sight of her bare hand when she relinquished the death grip on her mane, Darcy grew pensive. The blackness was still there, but was not what had caught her notice. Loki hadn't given her a ring. She wanted one, desperately, irrationally. Not a lame, traditional diamond, but something nice. A ruby. Sapphire. Emerald. That was, assuming she ever got out of—but no. She had been cutting off dreary thoughts at their birth, biting down the fear that threatened to overtake her at any given moment.

Launching herself from the chaise lounge she was far too familiar with, she started to pace, inhaling to let out a gusty sigh. It was never let loose, though, cut off as Darcy stopped short, a hand rising to her forehead as she wobbled on her feet.

"What the-" she let out before she was sucked into the vision.

It was similar to the dreams she feared; she somehow knew her friends were in the woods, spread out, separated from one another by Amora's illusions. All at once, she could see Jane, floundering in a field being saturated by heavy rain; Thor was traversing a rocky slope covered in snow; her daughter was stumbling through bushes dappled in sunshine; and Loki was sweeping through moonlit trees, despite them all being within mere miles of each other.

Something flashed, and the shrubbery Alice pushed her way through was on fire, the flames eating through foliage and arcing to join in a circle that surrounded the young woman.

Thor was suddenly facing the Executioner Darcy had faced on the train, Mjölnir appearing surprisingly useless against the man's armor, just as he used an opening to swing his axe into the blonde god's back…

Jane was holding a gun, swinging in a circle in the field as she was suddenly surrounded by wolves, whose eyes glowed red with enchantments.

And Loki was fighting the Enchantress herself, dipping and ducking in his usual hand-to-hand style, but Amora was very quick. The armor on her forearms glinted with slanted blades as she managed to jab an elbow at Loki's side, drawing blood with a momentum that sent it spattering across tree trunks paces away.

All this Darcy could see, but she could do nothing except watch in horror as her companions, kin, and love fell. And then it ended, and she was reeling, collapsing to her knees in the crafted dreamscape Loki had provided.

Something tightened in her chest, and Darcy drew a shuddering breath with no small difficulty, her brows crinkling together in alarm as she looked down at herself. She suddenly saw blood, she saw the blackness encroaching on the veins on the backs of her hands, and she felt a pressure in her chest that rendered her breaths tiny wheezes.

"What…is…happening to me," she managed, before a rushing sound drowned out even her thoughts and the room collapsed in on itself.

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They had crossed the border into Canada hours and hours ago, heading northwest as fast as they could, but nothing could seem fast enough for Jane. She'd tended to Darcy's unconscious form as best she could, wiping at her face and body in the tight confines of the vehicle, and settling for braiding her hair into two plaits to keep it out of the way. Luckily, Darcy had had surgery years before to repair her eyesight, and no longer wore glasses, so Jane was satisfied she'd be able to see if she woke up. When she woke up.

It was obvious they were close when the weather started getting strange. Thor had shrugged helplessly, insisting it wasn't him when a boom of thunder abruptly sounded, the sky rapidly darkening, but he'd done his best while driving to banish the familiar elements that raged outside the vehicle.

The road had started to curve wickedly, and Jane's anxiety levels would probably break a scale at the moment. Darcy had broken out in a sheen of sweat, otherwise showing no signs of life besides shallow breaths; her limbs had lost the strength they had shown earlier, and the astrophysicist had no idea of how to help.

Suddenly, Thor gasped, slamming on the brakes. Loki's head cocked to the side, and he leaned forward across the dashboard, trying to see what Thor had apparently seen. "Thor, there is nothing there."

"There is a bilgesnipe!" Thor exclaimed, sounding as startled and baffled as the others soon did. "Right there, in the lane!"

"Thor, there's nothing there," Jane started, but she shrieked when movement outside the side window caught her eye, and she turned to see several grizzly bears lumbering towards the car. Did those usually hunt SUVs, and in packs? "Over there!" The two Asgardians craned to look, but saw nothing.

"Amora's trickery is already at work," Loki muttered darkly. "We are close."

Thor shook his head briskly, tentatively hitting the accelerator and squinting carefully at the road ahead. They made it several miles without incident, when the car started sputtering.

"We should have called backup, this is ridiculous," Jane snapped, stress getting the best of her.

"And lead more lambs to the slaughter? Amora would not let a large force pass unopposed. She allowed us this far because it is part of her game." Loki's caustic tones didn't help, but the SUV managed to keep going, somehow.

The wind was picking up as they drove further into the protected forest lands, trees that hunched over the road starting to whip back and forth. A large limb that had already been hanging precariously from a large fir ahead of them started to give way, and Jane's shriek of warning did nothing.

The branch hit the car's hood and windshield with enough momentum to turn it ninety degrees in the road, shoving the front end off the pavement and ultimately flipping it. End over end, it toppled, coming to rest in a ditch at the tree line that resumed about a dozen feet from the road.

Thor moved first, kicking out the driver's side door and crawling out, immediately moving around to the back end. "Jane? Are you alright? Darcy?" There was a ten-second window of silence, during which he held his breath, but finally a weak cough sounded, and a small hand flailed into sight. "Here, I'm okay. Just a little banged up. Darcy-" Jane's voice cut off with a gasp, and Thor started to tear at the rear doors, finally getting one off its hinges.

A crunching of glass preceded Loki, rising to his feet on the other side of the vehicle with less grace than usual, a panicked look in his green eyes. "I lost concentration," he muttered, over and over as he staggered to Thor's side. "I lost concentration, and control of the connection I forged with Darcy's subconscious-" His voice was choked with something, emotion or tears or both, and Thor feared any reaction beyond that.

The thunder god quickly crouched before the gap he'd made, frowning. "I cannot get at her."

Jane appeared, having crawled out the other side too, nursing her right arm but looking otherwise unharmed. "Her belt is jammed, and I have no way of knowing if her head took a hit or anything," she stammered, and Loki shoved Thor roughly aside, flicking his hand at the crushed metal representing the side of the car. It parted with a metallic shriek, and he looked back at them, fury burning in his gaze. "Get moving," he snapped. "Don't use the road, but find her. Kill her, if you can."

Thor and Jane looked at one another, linking hands quickly and delving into the heavily-wooded forest's edge, Mjölnir disengaging itself from the ruined SUV to fly into Thor's grasp.

Loki turned back to the wreckage, dread filling him as he leaned into the damaged interior. Darcy was still limp as ever, but she'd been belted in, luckily, and now sagged against the restraints. If she'd been conscious, she would not have been happy with her upside-down position, and Loki hurriedly cut her free, glad his coat still cushioned her. She was only visibly bleeding from a small cut near her temple, but she had none of the durability the rest of them had, and he healed the cut, whispering a quick spell that would screen her for further harm. There was nothing from the vehicle when his magic returned with the results, but the strange symptoms characteristic of Amora's infection were strengthening.

Biting his lip until it drew blood, Loki rose to his feet with his unconscious fiancée in his arms, leaving the ditch's uneven terrain and setting off into the woods as well. He tried to focus, to recapture the thread of consciousness that had linked them since her episode on the roof, but it was like no one was home on the other end. That alarmed him further than her wounds and physical lack of response to any stimuli.

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Jane and Thor were already hopelessly lost, the latter swinging at tree branches at random with his hammer to clear their path, the former trying desperately to gauge direction by the sunlight that came and went sporadically. Jane was giving up, standing still to blow her hair out of her face, not listening as Thor's steps started to fade away, when she suddenly noticed a path. It wound through the trees, clear as daylight and obviously well-trodden, and she frowned.

"Thor?" She called, blindly waving a hand behind her for his attention while she ogled the way that had shown itself. "Thor!" Finally, she turned, and froze. Thor was nowhere to be seen. "Thor?" she ventured one more time, voice weakening as fear moved in. "Damn it." She had no choice but to turn back to the path she'd seen and try it, but…Now there was no path. Instead, the trees opened onto a field not five steps in front of her. Vague memories of a field in The Wizard of Oz nagged at her, but at least she could see where she was going, right?

"Thor, I'm going this way," she called, knowing it was useless but on the off chance anyone could hear her. Any allies, that was. She trekked into the field, and when no booby traps immediately exploded in her path, her courage grew, and she continued to wade through the long grass in a direction that seemed as good as any.

Thor, for his part, had batted down enough trees to fill an entire lumberyard before he noticed Jane was not following. The terrain was growing steeper, and also colder, the sky now a murky gray. "Jane?" He called, unbothered himself by the cold but worried for his wife's smaller build. She didn't respond, and his apprehension grew. After a few more calls, there was still no response.

Deciding it unwise to fly via Mjölnir, he'd suggested they stay on foot, but that was now obviously a mistake. Perhaps he'd turned himself around, he thought, and with that in mind, continued onward, up the craggy slope that the trees had given way to. Flying was so much easier, how did mortals ever figure out the four directions, confined to the ground?

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Alice by now had figured out the wave that had knocked her down was some sort of illusionary force field, but it did nothing to filter out what was real and what was not, in her vision. She'd already run from a bear with metal claws, a swarm of purple bees, and a twister that had inexplicably formed beneath the trees to pursue her. All of the tricks had dispersed upon contact with her or had been outrun, and she didn't want to know if there was a difference.

Somehow, she'd ended up in a field of thick, thorn-strewn bushes occasionally laced with harmless bracken, a mini-forest of its own. She no longer had any sense of direction, if she'd ever had one, and was definitely going to starve to death in the next hour, she swore. Afraid to call out and give her position away, she'd refrained, though she'd heard the occasional rustling in the woods not far from her. She could have sworn she heard Jane Foster's voice, but wasn't sure if that was even plausible, and hadn't heard it again since she'd ignored it.

As she forged through the bushes, again grateful for her father's jacket, her bracelet warmed against her skin. Pausing to pull back her sleeve, she noticed its gems flashing in quick succession. Morse code? A more generic warning? Low battery? She had no clue what this thing could do, except apparently floor the occasional attacker, and shrugged, rolling her sleeve back down.

Finally, the bushes started to thin out, and she stepped out from the last with a sigh of relief, until she saw the crumbling gray walls rising from the forest floor before her.

"Oh, shit," she mumbled hoarsely, as Amora stepped from the tree line with a murderous expression on her face.

Then a new voice belonging to neither called out to Amora, and Alice turned with the sorceress, a sob rising to lodge in her throat as she looked upon her mother's dead body.

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	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Influential songs for this chapter included "Lights" by Emphatic, "Rest Your Head" by Bat For Lashes, and "From the Deep" by Theatres Des Vampires.
> 
> From the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you. ~Bon

His monitoring of her family had not stemmed from an urge to control, to retain some power over her; he'd just wanted her, and hers, safe. And, truth be told, he felt like he had invested something of himself in the little daughter of hers whom he'd rescued from the tree, some pure aspect of himself that was comforting to see develop. He had kept his distance from that day on; he'd only wanted to see the girl his mother had spoken of, whom she'd helped into the world.

But there had come a time when his help was needed, and he would never be ashamed to say that yes, he had intervened in Darcy's life, and her daughter's.

It was a sunny Tuesday, Fourth of July, and revelers were out in full force in the streets of New York, drinking and yelling and having a good time. Darcy, Ian, and the girls had attended a parade, then a picnic in Central Park. The girls had wandered off, Darcy and Ian relaxing on a blanket spread on the grass, his head in her lap as they discussed a Fourth of July before the girls were born.

Darcy was trying to stifle a snort of laughter, a palm pressed to her face as tears streamed from her eyes. "And I was like what, it isn't contradictory for a Brit to celebrate the Fourth of July?" Ian chuckled, ready to reply when suddenly, a loud crackling and high-pitched noise filled the air, accompanied by flashes in the dimming evening light. Darcy dismissed the fireworks, as they were par for the course of the holiday, but then the shrieks started, and people started flocking towards the pond, where teenagers had been lighting off approved firecrackers.

The girls had wandered towards the pond, saying something about ducks. Darcy's blood ran cold, she and Ian leaping to their feet. He grabbed her hand, and they were dashing downhill towards the duck pond. Someone was calling out that they had called nine one one, but were those girls hurt? A gasping sob tore from Darcy's throat as she parted the crowd frantically, leaving Ian behind somewhere.

When she made it to the water's edge, she found her daughters huddled together, eyes wide but appearing unharmed. Darcy fell to her knees, gathering both girls to her chest and just trying to breathe. Guilt, worry, pure fright, adrenaline; all of it warred inside her as she clutched at her daughters, even as they whined and tried to pull away.

A bottle rocket had gone astray, someone said, had launched sideways instead of straight up, and headed right towards the girls, playing near the edge of the water. But the firework had somehow imploded before it reached them, the remnants veering off into the water, resulting in some very scared little girls and ducks, but no injuries beyond a teenager's seared palm.

The story sounded fishy, and Darcy left the girls to Ian's care, eyes narrowed as she started to traverse the crowd. It was getting darker by the moment, lanterns being lit throughout the park to light pedestrians' ways, but she was determined.

She finally spotted him, barely illuminated by the flickering light of a park lamp. His hair was the shortest she'd ever seen it, but it was unsurprising; the summer was one of the hottest in recent record, and she knew the slightest hint of heat could be uncomfortable for him. He was uncharacteristically dressed in a brown t-shirt and jeans, sunglasses hung over his shirt's neckline. How very incognito, she noted absently, but it was a good look.

He was leaning up against a tree, just crowd-watching, it seemed, and hadn't spotted her yet. When she was within forty feet or so, he stiffened, straightening as his head slowly turned in her direction. Green met blue for the first time in years, and she swallowed thickly, stopping dead in her tracks.

People moved across her path, but she saw nothing except his emerald eyes, managing to glint despite the darkening evening. Uncharacteristically speechless, after a moment of unabashed staring she settled for simply whispering "Thank you" across the distance that separated them. After a moment, Loki inclined his head, because of course he had heard her. Somehow. A family of four then passed in front of his tree, and when they had moved away, he was gone.

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Jane Foster was no stranger to not knowing what was happening; that state of inquiry was what had motivated her for her entire career, her entire life. This, however, was frightening.

Her gun drawn out of fear, she was once again glad she'd decided to train with SHIELD's operatives for a brief time. The field she traversed was not simply a grassy plain. Dark-furred wolves had appeared out of nowhere, her bullets going straight through them, only for the creatures to vanish a moment later. The ground would shake at random intervals, sending her stumbling; she was completely ready to return to her lab, but Darcy.

Cresting another hill, she heaved a sigh, shoving her hair out of her face. It clung to her hand, and plastered itself to her cheek anew. "Really?" She muttered, feeling in her pockets for a hair band, when she felt it; a tingling sensation, electricity in the air, like when…

A clap of thunder sent her jumping a foot into the air with a squeak, but the element was beyond welcome right now. It meant Thor was near. Scanning the horizons of the plain, Jane squinted, unsure of what she was seeing. The hills had seemed endless for the last hour, like looking out to sea, but now they were receding, trees overtaking the ones furthest in the distance. The land was literally changing itself.

Jane started walking, trusting not the ground she trod on, but the storm clouds above her.

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An unfamiliar energy pulsed through the air, something unnatural, raising the hair on Thor's bared forearms and sending a chill down his spine. The wind was picking up, and the snow was falling more heavily upon the slopes he climbed. He swore he had passed the same boulder three times, each time with more snow upon it.

"Loki?" He called hoarsely, trying to see in the strengthening blizzard. "Jane!" There was no answer, as expected, and he took a breath, swinging Mjölnir once to summon his armor. With one strong push from the ground, he was several hundred feet from the ground. But being airborne did nothing to dispel the strange weather conditions, and Thor frowned into the flurrying snow. It was clearly a trick of Amora's, he could smell the magic, but how could he fight an environment?

An idea struck, and he swung his hammer faster and faster, summoning the most lightning he could. The murky clouds above darkened further, their hues now charcoal and a deep navy blue, the element he governed slashing through in brilliant bolts. Familiarity accompanied the slashes of lightning in the sky. Thunder grew louder and louder, and still Thor stoked the storm, higher and higher, until everything he could see was lightning of his creation, everything he heard the thunder he had brought.

With a roar, he brought the tempest to its climax, diving back towards the ground, hammer-first. Striking the rocky terrain below with a clang that resounded for miles, Thor let the storm loose. Lightning struck the remnants of Amora's snowstorm with crackling fury, wind howling as her illusion dispersed easily under the energy the thunder god had harnessed. Bolts of light hit the ground intermittently, a burning smell filling the air as magic met magic. It was the smell of success to Thor, who rose to his feet with a small grin of satisfaction, watching the sky clear at his bidding. Soon there was no sign of clouds in the sky, and the false terrain had morphed back into a patch of grassy clearing in the middle of the forest. The enchantress was already losing ground, literally.

"Thor?" His wife's voice called incredulously, and the god turned to see Jane, the baffled look that he loved on her face. It was the expression she made when an equation printed out wrong, when data entry popped up an error message in her computer program. It was a relief, and he dashed to her side, sweeping her diminutive form into his arms with a sigh. "I thought I had lost you."

"Um, I think you did," came her reply, muffled in his cape. "The forest is enchanted or something, some sort of illusionary field. It'd be fascinating to study that mastery of projections over such a distance, I'm not sure I've seen Loki do anything on a scale like that…"

"Loki is master of his own tricks," Thor replied gruffly, thinking of the lifesaving magic that had rescued Darcy and the still-unborn Alice all those years ago. His brother needed to be cut more slack, a lot of it, even by Thor's own wife. "Amora's magic is nothing compared to my brother's."

"Who we really, really need to find," Jane said, biting her lip and looking at the sky. "But how?"

"A storm I conjured banished the field of illusion around me a moment ago," Thor mused, eyes on the sky as well. He suddenly gripped Jane tightly around the waist, pulling her flush against him. "Perhaps a view from the sky would help?"

"Ugh, I hate this part-" Jane started, cut off as they launched to the air.

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"Are you content now, Amora? Satisfied that you have obtained what you have wanted for so long? Her death?" Loki's voice was ragged, choked with grief, and he wavered on his feet where he stood.

Amora scoffed, but stayed silent, opting to lean against a nearby tree. The sorceress clad in green folded her arms contemplatively, eyes scrutinizing the form in his arms.

Alice was motionless in the grass, eyes on Darcy in his arms. She wasn't moving, her arm hanging at an angle that looked immensely uncomfortable. It couldn't be. "Loki?" She asked, her words falling like anvils in the quiet forest. At the sound of her voice, Amora pushed off from her tree, sauntering in Alice's direction.

"Do not even think of trying," Loki growled, eyes narrowed. He slowly lowered himself into a crouch, gently depositing Darcy on the lush grass before he was on his feet again, stalking forward himself.

Amora's mouth turned up, brows raising as she shrugged in a show of false innocence, but she stopped. "I'm not sure what you speak of, Trickster," she called in a too-sweet tone, flicking two fingers in Alice's direction.

In a split-second, Loki was making a vicious slashing movement with one hand. A gust of wind sent Alice's hair streaming behind her before it fell still again, but nothing else happened, no blast of dark magic sliced into her or anything. She took a jerky step forward away from Amora, eyes locked on her mother's still form.

"Loki," she managed again, throat parched anew from fear, "Is…Is she…"

His eyelids fluttered, gaze flicking downwards and away from Alice even as he strode closer to Amora. He didn't reply.

"Oh, but this is lovely," Amora chirped, clapping her manicured hands together in a show of joviality. "All in one spot, this is much more than two birds with the one stone. Thank you, Laufeyson, for bringing reinforcements."

A rustling sent Loki's eyes scanning the tree line, but nothing appeared.

"Up, darling," Amora offered with a smirk, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to rip the flesh from her face to rid it of that expression.

A rushing sound diverted his attention again, and a muted boom as Thor and Jane landed in the grass nearby. Jane rushed past Loki to tend to Darcy, Thor moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother.

"Alice," Jane hissed, gesturing to Darcy's daughter to join her where she knelt in the grass, her friend's head resting on her lap. The younger woman continued stiffly across the clearing, the two Asgardians moving to block Amora's view as Alice collapsed on her knees next to Jane.

"Shall we, brother?" Thor asked, whirling Mjölnir even as he spoke. Loki nodded curtly, the blades of his daggers flashing as they appeared in his hands. With a grunt, Thor shot forward, swinging the hammer above his head to bring it down on Amora. A glint of steel was the only warning before Mjölnir crashed down upon a very different target, the breastplate of the sorceress' henchman, the Executioner. The impact sent Thor flying back, the Executioner following straight behind, keeping the thunder god away from his mistress.

Caught off-guard, Thor rolled to the side where he landed, but rose just a little too slowly. Skurge took his chance, having recovered from Mjölnir's blow enough to swing his hefty axe into the god's side. Thor crumpled to one knee with a bellow, hurling his hammer in retaliation. Skurge's axe was knocked from his hand and sent flying two dozen feet to lodge in the ground.

Thor lifted his right hand from his wounded side to evaluate the damage, frowning deeply. Not many could wound him so effectively, and his mind, usually reserved for combat and food, was racing, trying to place the man he faced. He shakily rose to his feet, catching Mjölnir as it faithfully returned to his grip, trying to staunch the blood that dribbled from between the fingers of his other hand.

Loki was facing Amora, disconcerted that she appeared to be attempting hand-to-hand combat at all. With quick movements reminiscent of his own mother's training, she struck at him, blades on her armored forearms drawing crimson lines in his armor, flitting away after each strike to plan her next attack. He reluctantly conceded that she had improved her tactics over the years, had obviously trained in physical combat, and that made her more dangerous.

Conjuring three doubles, Loki sent them skirting around her in a circle, looking for an opening. If he focused his magic more intently, they could become tangible, able to harm her, but he hesitated to do so and draw too deeply from his magic reserves so soon. He was already periodically tapping mentally at Darcy's presence, which was nearly nonexistent, and it was taking a toll.

A light chiming sound alerted him to one of his doubles vanishing in a green sheen of light, and he cursed his lapse in attention. Amora was grinning, her complicated wardrobe apparently no hindrance as she sprung back, light on her heeled boots as if barefoot. Taking a deep breath, Loki gave the remaining illusions tangibility, and the three tricksters converged on her with identical glares. Amora's façade slipped for a moment, bravado vanishing as alarm filled her eyes, darting between the three attackers.

Loki took a risk, fluidly somersaulting behind Amora and slashing at her leg. His blade caught purchase, a horrible ripping noise accompanying the blonde's screech of pain, his efforts rewarded with crimson blotches spreading across the emerald leather of one thigh.

He had not cut low enough, though, for she remained on her feet, gritting her teeth and slashing viciously with a summoned blade at the two illusionary foes still in front of her. They dispersed easily with the contact of her blade, and Loki's own teeth gritted in consternation. Sweat was now dotting his brow, his magic spread as thin as hers as he incessantly tried to reach Darcy's mind, even as he fought the sorceress.

Amora was panting, at least, her once-immaculate blonde curls now hanging limply across her shoulders. One hand clutched at her leg, which dragged slightly behind her as she circled with Loki, each trying to get maximum distance away but still keep the other engaged. The clashing of metal, and accompanying roars, kept them astride of the other battle between their respective allies. A rogue bolt of lightning struck the ground next to Amora, who flung herself into a roll, the ends of several ringlets smoking when she straightened with a scowl. Loki caught an uttered curse from Thor's direction, who'd apparently summoned the electricity as a small combative favor for his brother.

Slash, retreat, swing, block, duck, respond with an upward slash, retract blade. On and on it went, the two Asgardian magic practitioners as evenly matched as it got. But both were tiring, sweat and blood flowing equally freely.

Jane was still crouched over Darcy, chafing her wrists, patting her cheeks, attempting CPR with chapped lips salted with frantic tears. Nothing was working, Darcy's body was like a hollow shell. Alice was breathing shallowly, eyes locked on her mother, but she would not touch her, as if it would make it real.

A feminine shriek resounded around the clearing, startling everyone and raising gazes. Amora was gasping, having fallen to her knees, a hand stretched defensively to the sky above her. Loki paced closer and closer, eyes narrowed as he sought to unravel what was surely a trick. Alice shifted, leaning towards her mother, eyes narrowed. Ian had told her Amora was stretched thin…What if her magic was being resisted, as well?

Jane's own attention was regained by a groan from the patient in her lap, and a hoarse squeal escaped her own lips at the same time as Alice gasped. "Darcy?"

Her words caught Loki's attention, and the blade in his hand lowered momentarily, his eyes scanning his fiancées limp form. Amora took her chance, heaving herself forward and blasting him with a flash of scarlet magic. His agonized cry ended on a growl as he regained his feet, taking several steps from the enchantress.

The woman in question rose to her feet, her appearance now almost comically bedraggled, if it weren't for the menace in her cold eyes. Extending a hand to her left, she curled her hand inward as if beckoning, closing her eyes with apparent exertion. But they flashed open again, a glimmer of satisfaction in their depths as a moment later, Ian appeared, stumbling through the brush as if hypnotized.

"Dad! No!" Alice snapped from her daze at the sight of her father, struggling to her feet despite Jane's attempt to grab her.

Distracted, Thor lowered Mjölnir as he faced the Executioner, unsure of what to do, and Skurge seized the opening, slamming his retrieved axe into the god's injured side again. Thor's body was angled slightly away from the Executioner, lessening the damage, but it was still a grievous wound, worsened by the additional blow.

Thor roared in agony, sinking to both knees in the dirt that was turning to mud as blood was spilled. The Executioner's feet appeared in Thor's lowered sight, and he knew the Asgardian reject would be raising his blade, ready to fulfill his title. Jane's frantic screams sounded in his ears, his blood pounding a staccato beat through his consciousness. At the very last second, the blond god summoned what strength he could, swinging upwards with his hammer. Mjölnir batted away Skurge's axe first, the momentum of the blow maintaining its course towards the Executioner's skull.

The impact was a squelching, sickening noise, but the hulking foe in front of Thor dropped with a quiet gurgle, axe falling to the ground without its handler. The enchanted axe's blade seemed to dull, the glimmer of steel dimming with the death of Skurge. Mjölnir joined it in the mud as Thor toppled to the side, snarling in pain.

Jane laid Darcy's head down and dashed to her husband's side, helping him crawl away from the fallen executioner and evaluate his wounds. That left Alice standing alone by her mother, whom she spared a look of pain. "I've got to help Dad," she whispered apologetically, before striding towards her father, who was still standing blankly at attention across the clearing, behind Amora.

"Amora, let him go!" Alice called, her voice strengthening with resolve. Loki jerked on his feet, swinging to aim a frantic glance at her. "Get back, Alice."

"No. She has my father," Alice continued, stopping a short distance from the two sorcerers. Amora was sneaking oddly sober glances at the fallen body of Skurge, pacing back and forth as she faced Loki, blood trickling from her lip. She seemed to come to a decision, abruptly stepping back several lengthy paces as she made another beckoning motion, and Ian moved forward, pulling an ornate blade from his belt.

"Yes I do, child, and he's going to kill you in my stead. I think that's sufficiently poetic," Amora sneered, keeping a hand clamped to her thigh as she started to mutter to herself, a green light surrounding the wound.

Ian's glazed eyes didn't even watch where he stepped as he moved forward, headed straight towards Loki without hesitation. The mischief god shot a strangely perturbed look at Alice before bowing his head for a second, spreading his hand in front of him, palm down. A purple light crept over his palm, and he swept his hand downward with a quick motion. Ian dropped like a stone, and Alice shrieked. "My father! You killed my father!"

She flung herself on Loki with a feral scream, fists flailing and sneakered feet trying to aim kicks. Loki tried to say something, but Alice's nails raked at his face, drawing blood across his alabaster jaw line. She didn't even notice, sobbing starting to overcome the angered screams, and Loki managed to restrain her wrists, pinning them down to her sides as he tried to speak anew. When her streaming, reddened eyes sought her father's crumpled form, and raised higher still to the god towering over her, the trickster's eyes caught her breath.

The emerald depths were swimming with a mixture of grief and apology, but panic took over when they flicked upwards and over Alice's shoulder.

"Your mother would kill me." She barely caught the hushed words, couldn't even take a full breath before he was flinging her to the side, absorbing the full force of a spell Amora had flung at Alice's turned back.

Darcy's daughter caught herself on all fours, palms scraping in the dirt and grass as she tried to gain leverage. She turned in time to catch Loki's muted gasp of pain as Amora's spell hit, a fuchsia-colored flash of light, and then he was on the ground, back arching in agony. The enchantress' gleeful cackle echoed over the clearing, which had fallen quiet, Thor and Loki both felled for the moment.

That left Alice, shoving herself to her feet with scraped palms that she nervously wiped on her filthy jeans, hunching her shoulders within her father's borrowed coat for courage as she faced the sorceress.

"Really, your family ought to receive an award for all the trouble you've caused. Then again, I don't plan for any of you to survive…" Amora drawled, once again all arrogance and grins, now that the playing field was literally leveled. Alice had had enough, folding her arms across her chest and flicking her chin so her dark locks fell away from her vision.

"You should get the award." The words were casual, nearly blown away in the breeze.

"What was that, mortal?" Amora dramatically held a hand to her ear, strutting closer.

"You should get the award, for most trouble taken to rid yourself of like, two humans," Alice continued, leaning her weight on one hip and striking a casual pose. "I bet you'll be in children's books in the, what is it, Ass-gart daycare or something. Happy?" Out of the corner of her eye, Alice could see Loki struggling to his feet, and beyond that, her father stirring in the grass. Her sigh of relief was miniscule, but there.

"It matters not, if I succeed," the enchantress countered, recognizing the sarcasm, sauntering ever closer. Her leg wound appeared patched up magically, if not completely healed, and the cuts on her face and arms were fading as she spoke.

Damn, Alice hated magic. "You won't," she countered, her voice much stronger than she felt at the moment. The human girl swallowed with difficulty as the Asgardian witch reached her, pacing like a cat with a cornered mouse. Alice was no mouse, she thought, suddenly swinging out with a fist. She actually caught the blonde off guard, her fist smacking soundly into the jawline of the taller woman. Amora reeled, a hand flying to her face as she rounded on Alice.

"You little bitch-" she hissed, voice more serpentine than humanoid, and Alice reflexively stepped back, stopped by someone behind her. She caught a whiff of leather, and was not surprised when Amora was halted by a brass-armored forearm catching her arm's swing, bladed forearm and all. Blood ran freely from Loki's pale hand, but his other gently moved Alice behind him as he kept Amora in his grip with solely his left hand, slowly bending her hand down and back. The enchantress tried to pry her hand free, but couldn't seem to manage it. Loki seemed completely revitalized, a small smile on his face, eyes alight as they drilled into Amora's.

"Alice," Loki suddenly drawled conversationally, as if asking her to pass the salt, "your mother would like you to take my hand."

There was a moment where everyone blinked, but Alice grabbed Loki's chilly palm without hesitation. There was a strange sensation, like a static electricity shock, when their hands met, but she hung on, knowing this was important. Immediately, it felt like blood was being drawn from her hand, or like she'd stuck the end of the vacuum's tube on her palm, like when she was little; something was flowing from Alice to where their hands met, surrounded by a faint green light. Whatever was happening, Amora's face was becoming ever paler, if that was possible, and a grimace of pain plastered itself across her usually-sneering lips.

"What…Is…" the sorceress managed, bringing up her other hand to free the entrapped one, but at a tilt of Loki's head, a streak of green light appeared, wrapping itself around her hand and rendering it immobile. Loki was quivering with strain, his jaw clenched from drawing out whatever enchantment he was using, but it was working, fortified by whatever Alice had brought to the table. Amora's leg wound was beginning to bleed anew, crimson trickling down her leather leggings, and her skin was now past pallor, graying like a corpse.

"This is not possible-" Amora ground out, and Alice had never heard a more pleasing sound than this woman disturbed and in pain. A rustling sound grew louder as someone approached from behind Alice, and her head jerked around, eyes widening at who was coming.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," a familiar voice drawled, and Darcy stepped into sight, pale but moving. "It's always that's not possible, Darcy, coffee and orange juice don't mix, or No, Darcy, why would you build a munitions factory on the slopes of a volcano? You know what I say? Unpredictability, that's what. That's me. Darcy Lewis."

Her voice was hoarse and she was very pale, but her mother was alive. Alice almost lost her grip on Loki's hand at the sight of Darcy up and about, but Darcy held out a hand in warning, nodding at their linked hands. Alice realized what she meant and tightened her grip, watching her mother move to Loki's side, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she grabbed a dagger from who knew where in his armor. "This is just one of the many reasons I love you, Mister Tricks."

Amora's eyes were blazing with fear, her entire body now immobile, only those icy gray orbs tracking Darcy's movements as she moved around Loki to stand by Alice's side. Her left hand took Alice's other, and the same static electricity effect crackled between their palms, but Darcy was now smiling, raising the blade she held. "This is for Birger. This is for the countless people you've enslaved to do your bidding, many of whom died for it. This is for my daughters, and Loki, all of whom you've robbed. And…Well, I'm being poetic, why not be selfish. This is for Darcy." With that, Darcy slammed the dagger into Amora's chest, straight to the hilt.

Everything seemed to hold still for a moment, Darcy's eyes meeting Loki's, Amora's mouth twitching in gasps for air, and then the world exploded.

Jane's cry stuck in her throat as she watched her best friend impale a deadly Asgardian sorceress in the chest with a borrowed dagger as if she did it every day. A scream unlike any Jane had ever heard came from the Enchantress, and a second later, Amora seemed to combust. A myriad of colored flashes emanated from her body, and the force of the reaction sent Loki, Darcy, and Alice all reeling backwards in different directions.

The clearing quieted abruptly, until Jane could only hear Thor's heavy breathing, and her own.

Jane left her scarf pressed to Thor's bloodied side, racing to check on Darcy, the only one still laying where she'd been thrown. The day itself seemed to be brightening, clouds and dimness receding to let the late afternoon sun shine on the clearing. Alice was coughing, but getting to her feet, and Loki was already at Darcy's side.

When she reached her friend, whose eyes were closed, her head in Loki's lap, Jane immediately thought of Snow White, disliking the implication that thought held. But in all the movie renditions she'd seen, the girl was miraculously at her most beautiful when she was motionless, her features relaxed in deadly slumber. Darcy looked the same; her hair looked glossier, the gray streaks suddenly missing from her chocolate locks. Her skin was smoother, the lines around her eyes diminished, her lips fuller and more reminiscent of her youth.

Alice was brushing her hands off on her jeans, coming up behind Jane. "She's okay now? Mom?" She stopped beside Jane, brow furrowing. "Mom? What's-" Darcy's daughter was cut off by a strange whimper that they soon realized came from Loki, his hands roaming Darcy's face, arms, a palm pausing over her chest to gauge heartbeat. He didn't seem to find what he was looking for, drawing a ragged breath and flicking his fingers to summon magic.

When the enchantment complied, green light skirting over Darcy's prostrate form, Loki was still, watching the diagnosis as green beams of light retracted to form one orb that bounced in front of him. His response was to gently lay Darcy down, rising with jerky movements to his feet. His green eyes met Jane's, and she shook her head at what she saw there. "No, the spell, curse, whatever, is gone, so-" A tear trailed down his alabaster cheek, and the trickster took a step back, hands raising to his face where they clenched and unclenched, like he was looking for something wrong.

Alice fell to her knees at Darcy's side, not understanding Loki's actions. "Mom? She looks better, doesn't she- Mom?" The girl's words grew more frantic, and Jane joined her, her medical training taking over as she checked for a pulse, checked for breath from the lips, performed chest compressions, the entire routine.

The astrophysicist found the same lack that Loki's magic had, but it couldn't be. Darcy could swing back from anything. She wasn't even bleeding anymore, she looked great. She looked healthier than she had in years. A keening noise reached Jane's ears and it took a moment before she realized it was herself, and a hand flew to her mouth to muffle the cries. She rocked back on her heels, tears blurring her vision as she stared at Darcy. She was so, so tired of seeing her friend so still. Darcy had to get up, had to crack a dozen terrible jokes and laugh at nine of them herself.

"Not right-" she managed between sobs, her breath catching in her throat. She was dimly aware of flames in her peripheral vision, and looked up to see Loki, his back to them, one hand twitching uncontrollably as it gestured at something. Craning to see, to be distracted, Jane spotted the Executioner's body, giving way easily to the flames. More death and destruction.

A hand dropped on her shoulder, and Jane turned into her husband's chest with abandon, Thor's abilities having healed him sufficiently.

"We must leave," Thor's low tones told her, as he raised both of them from the ground, fully supporting Jane's weight. "We must get her to SHIELD."

Ian was now conscious, moving hesitantly towards the two Lewis women. "Alice?" He ventured, putting out a hand to touch his daughter's shoulder. "Is your mother…" He trailed off, and Alice threw herself into his weakened grip, tears soaking his shirt immediately. Jane did not want to make the call to Anna, oblivious and hanging out at Steve's place.

An animalistic screech jerked them all to attention, only to see Loki on his knees, muttering to himself and pressing his hands to his temples. If he had conceded, it was true, and Jane sniffled, pulling out her phone.

There was minimal reception, but it was there, and she frantically keyed in a request for a SHIELD airlifting. The ETA given was about ten minutes out, and she leaned against a tree to wait, nodding to Thor to lift her friend's body. She didn't deserve the ground, or a shoddy burial out here. Alice was inconsolable, Ian's support the only thing keeping her upright, and Jane knew the feeling.

When the helicopter finally arrived, Loki refused to accompany them. He gave Thor a long look, to which the thunder god nodded resignedly, turning to the chopper to pass Darcy's body to the crew.

Alice ended up needing a sedative, Ian looking like he could use one too. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion, but finally they took off, Jane watching the trees blur together into one massive green sheet below.

Canada had never been very kind to Darcy, had it, her friend noted absently, tears still drying on her cheeks.

Sniffling again, she scraped her sleeve across her nose, thinking back to all the times she'd been tricked into playing cheesy board games with Darcy through the years. The girl never took losing well, always inventing a last-minute rule that was "left out of this instruction manual, I swear!" and finding a way to win. But even dead, obliterated into a million spectral pieces, it was Amora who had won.

Jane made a mental note to toss out any of her old board games, closing her eyes and stubbornly fighting the burning under their lids. Her old friend hated crying, would have preferred it if Jane had kicked in a wall or shot something in grief. She'd have to give that a try.

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Hours, days, or years later, he knew not, Loki was striding aimlessly through the darkened forest, blasting trees at random, sending shards of bark and branches flying. He had no idea Darcy had envisioned this very scenario, scarcely a day before.

Woodland creatures scattered with various squeaks and chattering of alarm to find new shelter among the moonlit canopy, but the god of mischief paid no mind. He just kept walking, stunned by the realization that his mind would never channel another's thoughts. His wardrobe choices would never be scoffed at, bad puns would never be shot rapid-fire to make him smile, he'd never plan another elaborate escape in terribly rudimentary Spanish scribbled on colored post-it notes.

The usually sure-footed god tripped over a fallen log in the inky night, sprawling unceremoniously across the pine-needled carpet without even trying to catch himself. He lay there, mind as still as the night-blanketed woodlands. Blood seeped sluggishly from where a snapped branch had plunged into his hand, and no magic sprung from his fingers to heal it. His abilities seemed no longer his own, his spells uncooperative and stubborn when he attempted one. No diabolical plans were seeding in his subconscious, no tricks up either of his sleeves.

Everything that had made him Loki, God of Mischief, was gone, had left with Darcy Lewis. But a face suddenly flashed across his mind. He had one last responsibility, one remaining who would require his guidance.

Ignoring the bite of pain in his hand, Loki roused himself, standing and spearing the night sky with a defiant glare. A few sparks sputtered in his palm when he flicked his wrist, but nothing more. Newly determined, he shook the same hand, trying again. He was rewarded with an orb coalescing a few inches above his spread fingers, and with another blink, only a few broken branches signified he'd ever stood there. Loki of Asgard was burdened with one last purpose, one he would not fail to fulfill this time.


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are.
> 
> Ironically, movie soundtracks set the score for this epilogue, so you can totally thank Thor: The Dark World and Pirates of the Caribbean for this.
> 
> I got emotional uploading this, which never happens.
> 
> I still own nothing.
> 
> Thank you all for a great journey.

Dashing down the steps of her apartment building to catch the waiting cab, Alice winced, wishing she'd had the foresight to thrown some sunglasses in her already-crammed bag. But who expected to need them in the dead of winter?

It was a bright, sunny day, at odds with the temperature as well as the mood she was in, but she settled for shading her eyes with a hand as she flung her suitcase into the backseat. Sliding in next to it, she called out directions to a local florist, settling in with a packet of paperwork she pulled from the messenger bag slung over one shoulder. She fumbled in a side pocket for a pen, opting to grab her cell instead when it trilled.

"Hello?" She answered, angling the device between shoulder and ear as she continued her search for a pen. "Hey. Yeah, I'm en route, I just need to make a stop first. Yep, I remember. I'll leave something. Love ya Sis. Bye." Casting the phone aside, her foraging hand finally emerged triumphant with a pen in tow.

Struggling with the motion of the cab to sign and date several dotted lines, she was suddenly curious just how many life-changing decisions were made in the back of taxis. Maybe there was a club she could join.

Signatures applied, she shoved phone, pen and paperwork back into her bag, just as the cab came to a stop at the curb outside the recommended flower shop. Shoving a hefty tip at the driver to ensure he'd wait, Alice stepped out onto the pavement, double-checking the storefront's name before ducking inside. Smiling feebly at the older lady who called a greeting, she proceeded down the rose aisle. No expense would be spared on this purchase, that's how her mother would want it.

Nowadays, actual live flowers were depressingly becoming obsolete, florists harder and harder to find in the face of technological advancements like holograms and mechanical alternatives to the real plants. Pursing her lips at the literal rainbow of colors now made available to stay marketable, Alice's mind was blank; all she knew was that she was definitely not buying red. The crimson shades were now sickening to her. Choosing a bouquet at random, she headed back to the front and the kind shopkeeper.

Flowers purchased, along with an ornamental vase she'd been assured could withstand the elements of the graveyard, Alice settled back into the cab, the arrangement carefully perched in her lap. Muffling a yawn with one hand, her eyes turned to the passing scenery, but it went unseen, absorbed as she was in her own dismal thoughts. It had been four weeks since her life had been up-ended, several times over, in fact, and she had not adjusted well, in her own estimation. Anna had always been the more chipper of the sisters, and though she'd been told what happened, filled in on everything, Alice's sister had found a way to cling to that optimism. Of course, that may or may not have had something to do with the snuggling with Captain America, who would balk fiercely at even any joke about pedophilia. In any case, Anna couldn't understand Alice's lingering melancholy, and if her own sister could not, who would?

So Alice had accepted the first offer she'd received to get away, to really get away and gain a new perspective, to learn more about herself. Her eyes drifted back to the interior of the cab, to the sheaf of paperwork with official stamps and seals all over it, signed by her on the bottom line. It was her resignation from her internship with the ambassadorial envoy she'd been working with, and another document that signaled her decline of the offer of a more permanent position with them. She'd seen too much, heard too much, felt too much to return to a mundane routine of debate and note-taking.

Annoyed with her gloomy thoughts, Alice looked down at her lap and started slightly. The roses in the fixture were suddenly wilting, a few petals already withered and browned, fallen off into her lap. Annoyed, she winced, and shot a glance up front at her driver, who didn't seem to have noticed anything, and then refocused her gaze on the drooping floral arrangement. Under her intense concentration, the stems became green again, the leaves unfurling and petals brightening to a brilliant yellow once again. It lent a small twinge of satisfaction, and her lips turned up at her work.

Her cab made one stop at the embassy to drop off her paperwork, and ten minutes later, pulled into the ornate gates of one of New York's finest cemeteries, stopping a few dozen feet later at her request. Adding another tip to her fare, she hefted her suitcase, waving off the cabbie's offer of help. The man probably thought she was certifiably insane to get out of a cab in a cemetery with suitcase in hand, like she was there to stay. Perhaps she was indeed clinically crazy, but this was what was happening. As the taxi retreated, she proceeded to amble down the well-kept lanes with her luggage rolling along behind her. The floral offering rested in the crook of one arm as she scanned the graves she passed, icy grass crunching beneath her feet.

Another electronic beep halted her progress as she struggled to differentiate between headstones, craning her head this way and that from the lane, and she sighed, retrieving her phone again with difficulty. "Hello? Oh, hey Jane. Yeah, I'm here. How's Dad doing? Yeah, I figured, you guys mentioned something like this happening years ago to that doctor you worked with. Yes, the PTSD, but…"

Alice set her suitcase down, moving from the pavement to prop her other hand on a nearby tombstone, hoping the inhabitant of the ground beneath her feet wouldn't mind. "I'm really hoping this ends better. I'll make sure it does, and I think this'll help everyone. Thanks…for everything. Mmhmm, it probably is bye for now," she laughed lightly, a flat sound that the wind easily carried away. "But somehow I think I'll be seeing you around. Bye, Doctor Foster." Clicking off, Alice debated aloud to herself the merits of smashing her phone on the stone beneath her fingers, distracting thing that it was. She was on the verge of a life-changing moment, after all.

"Senseless waste, I should imagine," a gentle voice sounded from behind her, and Alice barely batted a lash before turning to face the speaker's polished accent, "to destroy the device, I mean." Despite anticipating the visitor, the silent approach threw Alice off, and she fumbled for words.

"H-hi. Do I, um…" Her throat was suddenly dry, and she cleared it before trying again. "Do I curtsy or bow, Mrs…"

"Just Frigga will do, dear, and you certainly have no need to bow to me. I've known you for a long time, and I feel like we are old friends. Let us behave as such." Loki's mother moved forward with an ethereal grace, the uneven, stone-strewn ground proving no hindrance to the layered skirt of her peach silk dress. Somehow she didn't look at all out of place, or cold despite the wintry chill in the air. She eyed Alice's leather jacket, a knowing smile crossing her lips. "May I call you Alice?"

"Of course," Alice replied, smiling in spite of herself, calmed by the hand Frigga laid on her shoulder.

"And are you ready, Alice?"

Darcy's daughter bit her lip, blinking furiously at the sudden burning in her eyes. "I need to pay my respects first, that's all."

"Of course. I will await you at the large oak tree at the center of the cemetery. Take all the time you need." With that, the graceful form of the taller woman vanished, and Alice shook her head at how accustomed she was to stuff like that: alien royalty appearing and disappearing, just happening to know where a landmark was in a strange graveyard, no big deal. Her suitcase was gone along with Frigga, so she resumed her trudging along the rows of stone, adamant that she would know the spot when she saw it.

At last she spotted the newly-hewn marble stone, simple in design despite the expensive stonework comprising it. Kneeling respectfully to one side, she set the vase down on the base of the marker, angling it so the name was clearly visible, so everyone would know who was here. A hand glided fondly across the top arch of the marble slab, Alice's sniffle loud among the peace of the graves that surrounded her.

A tear fell unchecked to the freshly-turned earth she knelt in, slender shoulders shaking with muted sobs. There was no way to thank the sacrifice, to thank the goodness, the selflessness shown without hesitation. And to just be gone…She couldn't let it be in vain, wouldn't let something like this happen again.

Finally, she was ready, rising from the graveside with red-rimmed eyes and adjusting the messenger bag over one shoulder. Picking her way back to the cemetery path, Alice took a deep breath, staring into the sunny sky with renewed determination. A light breeze made leaves dance alongside her strides, and she hoped she was being smiled down upon, a grin gracing her own features at the thought.

Reaching Frigga, who stretched out a hand, she took it, meeting the goddess' gaze steadily. "Let's see this Bifrost."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I've no idea why Lloyd's jewelry is on the line, Doctor Foster, but they say there was an order placed under your name, and that you've got to be the one to pick it up, with identification and everything!" Jane's latest assistant, Hazel, strode into the lab, a cup of coffee in each hand, her shrugs and gestures making the hot beverages bob dangerously in her grip. Jane turned reflexively at the sound of another human voice, darting forward to save her own coffee from the certain death that loomed at the younger girl's hands.

"You can't have them cancel whatever it is…?" Jane murmured, taking an experimental sip and grimacing immediately. This girl still had no idea how she liked her coffee, and she wondered if that were justification enough to fire her. Oh, Jane's kingdom for a decent cup of Joe. Then again, maybe that was an option.

She was snapped from her thoughts by Hazel waving a hand across her face rudely. "They said you have got to come in. The order's placed as being for a laughingstock or someone? I dunno," the girl said dismissively, flinging herself into her desk chair and whirling it to face the computer that she used to troll social media all day. Some things never died, and facebook was a testament to that.

"Miss Hazel," an automated voice sounded overhead, Jarvis' soothing tones a gift from Stark Industries, "There is an issue with your security clearance, and your presence is requested on the first floor immediately."

Jane blinked up at the intercom, wondering if it had read her thoughts and invented a distraction, but not stopping the assistant as she huffed and stomped out the door. The lab phone rang at that moment, and Jane swiped across the screen automatically, pleased to hear her husband's timbre on the other end. "Jane, there is a merchandiser of fine jewelry who has been besieging my voicemail…" Thor went on to explain that an expensive chain was awaiting pickup by she herself, and Jane groaned into the speaker, palm splaying across her face. Assuring Thor she'd assuage the high-end telemarketers, she tapped an end to the call, laying her head across her folded arms on the lab table.

She'd already been on the phone half the morning with SHIELD's psychiatric ward, arranging for counseling for Ian, who was showing minor signs of the distress Erik Selvig had displayed after the Tesseract's influence was revoked. It didn't seem too serious, but Alice had requested Jane seek some help for her father while she researched possible magical aids, and he'd been hospitalized since their return. The girl had taken the entire ordeal with her mother and Amora very hard, and an offer from Frigga to study in Asgard had been eagerly accepted. Jane had already given her an update on her father, and Darcy's daughter was due to depart any minute, after a visit to Birger's grave.

The swooshing noise that accompanied the opening of the lab doors sounded, but she made no move to look up, assuming Hazel had returned.

"I can think of worse phone calls to get than being told you have some high-priced jewelry waiting with your name on it, even if it's not for you," a voice called, Jane's head rising as her eyes narrowed at the unexpected visitor, "Like a call at three in the morning asking you to break into a morgue. Could be worse, Chica."

Darcy Lewis ambled in like she owned the place, whistling as she eyed the screens lining the walls, and gadgets carpeting the room. "Haven't been in one of these since before I was a miserable invalid! Feels like a lifetime ago…"

Jane rolled her eyes at the existential joke, a genre Darcy held in high esteem these days, and gestured to a chair in front of her that was miraculously clear of research and scientific debris. Darcy flopped into it with the grace of someone twenty years younger, but then again, she now looked it. She promptly propped up her booted feet, using their leverage to swing herself back and forth on the rolling chair.

"Would you like your old job back?" Jane offered hopefully, eyes furtively darting towards the lab doors. "My current lackie is, well, doing well in the lacking department. Please?" She implored, shoving the sub-par cup of coffee across the table at Darcy, who grimaced at it.

"Is that tar?" She sniffed, not even leaning forward to check, and Jane broke into a grin. "Finally, someone who speaks coffee." The astrophysicist leaned forward, retrieving the mug of sludge and taking an unwilling sip, since there was nothing else. "What can I do for you, Millicent Lawson?" She struggled not to snort into her coffee as she spouted the alias, but Darcy cracked a wide smile.

"Funny you should ask, Jane Foster, I really need you to go to the jewelry store. Ya see, this little guy –" She proffered the gold chain she'd worn for over twenty years- "-has a partner he's waiting for, a really super silver piece that complements it perfectly, and they've had to wait a really long time to be together, if you get my meaning, so if you could just pick up this chain, me and a certain god would really appreciate it-"

"Ohh, my assistant must have meant Laufeyson when she said Laughingstock. But you mean to tell me he can't pick up his own jewelry-"

"Well, to be honest, he doesn't know about it, but I mean these are our wedding rings, per se, so I think you should be a little more supportive of the integrity of this mission I'm entrusting you with-"

Jane threw her hands up in the air as she stood, conceding. "It's lunch time anyways. Buy me a mocha and I'll get your chain, Mrs. I'm-Supposed-To-Be-Dead-And-Have-To-Be-Careful-In-Public."

"It's a good thing I'm remarkably well-adjusted to my status of existence, or I'd be offended by that, as I think 'Certified, Deceased' is a pretty serious offense to have on a file with my name on it, Missus Science. Now let's get going." Darcy bounded ahead, thwacking the button to open the lab doors with enough fervor for five people.

She never talked much about what happened, but would make vague jokes about "never messing with the old crones who run Norse religion", and spout weird metaphors about the reset buttons on power outlets. All Jane knew was that Darcy Lewis had been declared dead by SHIELD medical personnel upon their return from the battle, transported to the morgue, and given a toe tag. Autopsy had been avoided, when Thor had learned what that was, and that they were going to cut Darcy up, but at the morgue her body had stayed, pending arrangements, until one night when Jane received a strange phone call. The number was blocked, but Loki's voice was on the line, telling her she'd better come to the back door of SHIELD's medical facility, and to bring a change of clothes.

Sleep deprivation had her agreeing automatically, not really grasping his implication, but she complied anyways. She and Thor arrived in a back alley with an entrance to SHIELD's morgue, the area lit with one weak light bulb stationed over the doorway.

Jane had to close her eyes, count to ten, and re-open them to see if she were imagining things, but no, Darcy stood there, shivering, in a hospital gown. She didn't look like a zombie…Loki's arms were wrapped unrelenting around her, though she seemed adamant on standing by herself, and Jane was roused from shock by Thor flinging himself from the vehicle, wrenching Darcy from Loki's arms into a hug that lifted her four feet into the air. Loki had to pry her back, like a ball that Thor had been hogging, and Jane's eyes filled with relieved tears that things were finally as they should be. Darcy climbed into the backseat, situated between the two Asgardians and looking hilariously small, but herself.

"I need a pedicure," Darcy croaked, one bare foot wiggling in the air as she brought it to rest on the dividing console between the two front seats, poking Jane in the arm with the appendage. Definitely not a zombie or anything else re-animated in a bad way. "And a shower. No, a bath. In boiling water. And a milkshake. I need the death-grime gone. And a milkshake, yep, extra large. Chocolate." She shuddered involuntarily, and Loki wrapped an arm around her. Jane smiled at the rear-view mirror, absently cranking the heater up. She was driving on autopilot as she absorbed that yes, Darcy was alive, apparently here to stay, and in her backseat, currently whining that morgue gowns did not come in the vibrant violet color that she would have chosen if she were in charge.

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It had been a strange day, when Jane had gathered Darcy's daughters at Steve Rogers' apartment to first calm their fears that the woman walking behind her was some sort of zombie, and then the fears that they were both crazy. Steve, never having been very interested in the "hoodoo" of Asgard and all it entailed, simply took Darcy at her word that she was back, for good, and headed to the kitchen to make everyone a drink.

Alice and Anna had latched onto their mother with demands of explanation, with oaths that she'd never leave the house again, and tears. Plenty of tears. Jane had hurriedly ducked into the kitchen to help Steve, eager to escape the reunion lest she start bawling as well.

Anna had revealed her budding friendship with Steve, spurring Darcy to duck into the kitchen and threaten evisceration, as well as removal of several vital appendages if Steve hurt her daughter. But in truth, she was pleased that her daughter had found solace in the wake of the drama Darcy had brought upon her family.

Darcy's eldest had obviously not recovered as well from her family's struggles with magic, and the revelations that she too held power. Loki had told Alice honestly that it was her, not altogether her bracelet, who had healed and protected herself through the ordeal with Amora, an impressive display of magic that had amazed even him. After a long talk with her mother and sister detailing Darcy's return, Alice had then dropped the bomb that Frigga had been to see her, at Loki's behest, to offer her a place of study and solace in Asgard. There she would refine her abilities and decide what she wanted to do.

Darcy was half floored with gratitude at all Frigga had ever done for her, and half-convinced that the goddess was likely the most meddling mother-in-law ever.

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Darcy had been hesitant to step foot within the psych ward of SHIELD, with good reason; hospitals scared the hell out of her now. She thought she'd seen it all, being cooped up in a room for months, but having woken in a morgue really gave one some perspective, not to mention appreciation for grass under their feet and sky above their head. So it was with no small trepidation that she nearly tiptoed inside, Loki an encouraging, quiet presence at her back, and asked for Ian's room number.

Her ex-husband took some persuading that she was really there, that he wasn't still brainwashed and seeing what it was wished that he should see, and it saddened Darcy. The lack of control she herself had experienced was disturbing enough, but to literally be a puppet pulled along on strings…She'd pulled Ian into a fierce hug, reminding him of the time he'd tripped when he'd found her at the bar on her birthday. His arms closing around her showed he was convinced, and when she pulled back, he was smiling weakly.

"Not even sick anymore," she said, holding her hands up in the air and waggling them. "So, it's my turn to baby you. I'll sneak in the most fattening snacks you want." Ian had assured her there was a distinct shortage of pudding in the meals the hospital offered, and she'd flipped a thumbs up, assuring him she would not return without some in tow.

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Arm in arm, Darcy and Loki were strolling along a path in Central Park, a renovated version of the one Frost Giants had chased her down the night that she'd first pulled Loki into bed. Beaming from ear to ear, she poked the Asgardian in the side, reminding him of that, and he responded in kind, pressing a kiss to her hairline.

"So in all seriousness, there is something I wanted to discuss with you." Darcy spoke slowly, drawing out each word as she pulled him down onto a park bench. She didn't exactly have a place of her own since her extended hospital stay, and she was not having a mushy conversation in Jane and Thor's living room for all to hear. She kept their hands linked, clutching his arm to her chest as she curled against him for warmth in the chilly winter evening.

"That is somehow always ominous, coming from you," Loki muttered, his other hand raising to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "You're not leaving me for Steve Rogers, are you?"

"Oh-ho, Steve. That's a whole 'nother story I gotta fill you in on," she muttered, gesturing wildly with her free hand. "But no. First, I have this for you." Fumbling in the deep pocket of her pea coat, she proffered the long, thin box her hand emerged with. Loki took it, pulling his hand from hers momentarily to click open the ornate box, wherein lay a thick, unadorned silver chain, a masculine companion to the one she had sported for years.

"Is this a bribe?" He whispered silkily, raising a brow, and Darcy's brows rose in faux-consternation. "Nah, it's a reward, for putting up with me while I was stupid for years, and sort of a request, to, uh, keep doing it?" She edged closer, eyes looking anywhere but at him.

"Of course you would have to upstage my proposal," Loki replied without malice, bemusedly waving a hand at the chain, which appeared around his neck with the gesture.

"To be fair, that technically didn't happen, and I'm a modern woman. Darcy Lewis proposes to you, big guy," Darcy said, fingers moving to her own necklace and rubbing at the gem it held.

"I accept." His words were crisp, and he pulled her closer as the wind picked up, sending her hair whipping around her face and catching in her mouth. He kissed her anyways, fingers wrapping in the shiny locks, free of any gray, fully restored by whatever rejuvenation resurrection had given her.

Her face had lost the strained look illness and stress had painted upon it in past months, and she had attained a healthy weight once again. He still was not quite sure what had happened, whether it was intervention of the Norns, or Idunn or some other godly presence, but he had her back, and that was what mattered.

He had returned to civilization after the temper tantrum that had leveled half the forest, he was ashamed to admit, ready to attempt life without her in the pursuit of aiding her daughter with her abilities. Alice had initially rejected contact with him, lost in grief at the loss of her mother, and he hadn't blamed the girl, opting instead to consult with his mother. Frigga was decidedly more approachable, he admitted, and Alice had warmed to her, much to his relief.

And then one night, over a week after Amora's defeat, Darcy had popped into his head, their mental link as strong as if it'd never broken. Her consciousness' arrival had been like a physical mood lift, and it took him a moment to realize he was hearing her, not memories or wishful thinking. He'd caught the words "morgue", "wearing paper", and some extensive threat of bodily harm if she were not retrieved immediately, and that had been enough to make him drop everything and magic his way to the morgue. He'd been half-afraid it was still a dream, afraid he'd find her cold, lifeless body, but a pounding had led him to one of the lengthy steel drawers, and there she'd been.

She'd told him once that if she'd been meant for immortality, she'd have been given it. That night, as he tried to ignore the absurdity of his situation, pulling his fiancée from the a body drawer in a morgue, Darcy had gasped out that it had been done. There had been some transcendental chat, she had mumbled, but somehow she knew she'd been made immortal. That was the bottom line, and that was good enough for her. Any magic she had had before was now gone, the foresight and dreams banished, or revoked, but she was okay with that, with just being Darcy Lewis, albeit a Darcy Lewis with an extended expiration date.

Loki was more than fine with her being just Darcy Lewis too.

As the temperature dropped and the wind picked up, she pried him from the bench, adamant that she be bought a hot dog from a nearby stand before they headed home. As she devoured the dubious fare, he brought up something that had been on his mind. "What about a honeymoon?"

She blinked at him over a mouthful of mustard. "Have you been reading up on Midgardian wedding proceedings again? I thought I threw out that Brides Today issue weeks ago."

"Where would you like to go?"

"I dunno, where d'you wanna go?"

"I'd go to Jotunheim if it would please you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." She stopped walking, turned to wag a condiment-coated finger in his face. "I'm not that difficult to please, am I? Pretty sure a square meal and a movie sets me, Mister Dramatic…" She turned and continued walking, finishing her hot dog in contemplative silence. It started to snow lightly, the white specks winding their way downwards at a lazy pace in the dimming light.

"Norway?" She offered a moment later, mouth quirked to the side in thought. "Homage to Birger. Millicent would like to go there, Amund." She giggled at both aliases, hers adopted as she was technically declared dead, and his reusable if need be. Loki just pulled her closer as they walked, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. "That would suffice, Mrs. Laufeyson."

"There's like, enough names between us for a clan," Darcy grumbled, shaking her head gently. Loki smirked suggestively at her words, and she jabbed an elbow into his side as they walked home accompanied by the falling snow, hands tightly woven together.

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-daaaaaaaaaaaa.
> 
> That line is never getting old. Ever. Anyone else seen TDW three times yet? ~Bon


End file.
